A point of light you cover with a thumb
that was not there before, and it will pass.
A few weeks mirrored fearsome in the glass
with which we watch the sky. And death will come
to everything but not on such a scale.
You can’t imagine so much burning, fire
that burns up space, and mass. All you desire
of any death it is; it will entail
holes in the fabric that will never mend.
We hope there were no worlds, or hope them stone
and gas. A sort of universal groan
the crackling wavefront of that awful end.
We watch and fear and are so far away
this one can’t kill us. We are safe today.