Maybe we first met this arching dome
in dreams of what a life could be.
Sheer spaciousness, before hope
bent backward too many times,
breaking news breaking us.
In the vast immensity
a breath feels more at home,
released into place.
Never mind which star might be dead,
how long ago it died—
don’t want to know.
Light taking forever to get here,
more precious when it arrives.
Far-ranging, brilliance to quietude,
legacies of patience, belonging, disappearing.
And if the stars do not remember us, they act otherwise.