by Marianne Lyon

I wonder gazing at bright stars tonight,
if they were born a billion years ago.
What ghosts in corners dark are lost from sight,
inspire stories in wide eyes below:
explosions, evolutions , and rebirth
of distant suns, lost worlds, white comet’s trail,
the slow extinction of our hallowed earth.
Will dark space capture daylight— slow inhale?
By chance these sequins high shall burn away,
but their eternal gases will remain,
to other cosmic beings born someday.
And I, when death appears, earth’s hold unchain,
will linger and recall bright orbs on course,
then whirl to luminous, back to the Source.