A slight trace of light
from a distant dying star,
just faintly visible
if you squint into the sky. Just
for now, lost, but getting closer
with each blink, each tremor.
At a constant rate
of three hundred thousand kilometers
per second, how can we not
grow closer? I suppose
from the point of view
of the universe, you and I
are already on top of each other,
pawing nervously at the Big Dipper,
yearning to be just one part
of this great big cosmic project,
one continuous link
to the sun's morning gleam,
the moon's astral projections. When
you're on earth, you're practically
dead already, by the time
the light from Alpha Centauri
flirts with the earth's surface,
or so I try to tell myself at night
when glancing at the stars,
whispering slowly that you're still
alive, somewhere in a distant star system,
growing ever closer with each time I shudder.
I like this!
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