Sunday, 23 April 2017



Around the girth of the earth
flung star-wards, darkling day,
on and on our longing, 
is streaming far away.
What wonders on our infinite journey
will ache in memory where they lay,
for we may never return to say, 
there was no berth upon the dead star,
way down the time-funnel night,
where a solitary obituary lay,
a signal twilight signature
upon a broken contract,
a black parody that pardon falling,
and calling, but never belonging,
in all the blistering light-years,
forever and a day.

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