Michael Atreides Lair lives and writes in Springfield, Missouri.
We watched the distant stars
becoming more distant.
What we saw was years apart
from this moment.
And I wondered aloud about
death and all her shattered hour glasses.
A man spoke
of an infinite drive,
of traveling, light with light,
for some unknown amount of time,
and yet still: dead.
Somewhere our illuminating past
could meet another’s bright future.
Refections of moments lost
had never seemed much darker.
I watched and wondered to myself,
“Who else has lived and seen us then?”
And I watched and wondered,
“When will it end?”