Scanning the sky this way and that to keep
the light those distant galaxies emit,
we sense our insignificance—how time
dissolves like snow on seawater. We peek
beyond Andromeda and dream a wolf
gazes at us with quasar-eyes and loops
around while night unwinds the cosmic spool.
We lie intent on stillness but still flow.
We seem to stay together but we part.
And as we spiral into mindless doom,
our fingers meet and weave a mellow mood
that thaws the rim of Morpheus’s trap.
Your index leads the way through clouds and peels
away the layers of darkness till we sleep.