Sunday, February 14, 2010

Up and Out

Do the unreached stars record our pains,
eat them in a twinkling, still-staying,
resuming as before to flame?

Was the lidless night so made
for this, that up and out
are ages on ages
built for us to gaze,
and our lifetimes here, mere twinklings,
that a single star - of them all - winks at?

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