Asters on the Hillside

This year I almost missed the asters,
Their muted purple hazing the hillsides.
Fortunately, once they ignite to bloom,
They burn for weeks; miniature stars,
Life span scaled down with everything else,
Collapsing towards their cores—must be
This increasing density draws me out
Briefly from my early hibernation,
Back to the shortening hours of sunlight
Before they, too, shrink away, dwindle
Down to insignificance. I stand here
On the slope everything will descend
Eventually. Even you will fall
With me among the cold ashes of stars.

About John MacKenzie

I'll mumble for ya. Poetry, plus most things quantifiable: science, neuroscience, memory, epistemology, baseball. And so on.
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