Dawn obscures the extremities of space;
skies now softly gather distant lights.
Blue suns become opaque and bright
and mask the cold dark matter, love,
until we separate, start counting down
the time, and so alone, again, forever,
you lift off into warming azure, burn
away the golden haze of all our dawns.
But in that sheer stretch of empty space
folded, traveled at the speed of light,
your instruments will measure, you remember
all the weeks and months and years of flight,
see through stellar objects—moons and stars,
whole galaxies like thin white veils, pinned,
hanging in darkness, that only half-
conceal the blank face of oblivion.
You’ve wandered out our days among the stars,
and once again you will be lost in that
quickened ignition of heat and light through which
you step gently for refuge, to escape,
and this time won’t come back until the suns
begin to fade, until the universe
collapse; come back this time with all of time
and space; come back this time to stay the nights