the cold stars cannot witness
they cannot speak
the cold moon will not illuminate
she cannot see
the galaxies remain mute
dumb and blind
they are constrained
yet we who are finite
we are the time-makers
we subscribe to the infinite
we are those who mark the
moments that count
cruelties so sharp that they sting
like an icy breath
on a frosted winter morn
kindnesses that keep coming warm
spreading soft as
blankets on a bed
for Death comes like that
and Life comes like that
there are long years gone
and time goes out of mind
even memory cannot remain
as long as the unknowing stars
or the blindness of the moon
for there is a quickness of light
and the narrow speed of sound

these
keep falling all around