No one alive now remembers
Rain on their skin in October
Or how it varnished ochre larch.
The slow rise and fall of water
Moving with the moon over sand,
The deep breaths of a pensive sea.
The languid foreplay of ospreys
Soaring together on thermals
Above wind-bent spruce and jack pine.
Our shores now are vague, galactic
Edges foamed with stars seen dimly
Through a thin, cold mist of comets.
Behind us is only darkness
Speckled with the embers of Earth.