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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