We Don’t Mourn the Moon

We don’t mourn Mars. We get our hopes
Up for some of the large moons, but

We don’t weep for what they have lost
What they might lose. We don’t mourn them.

We weep for what’s ours. What we feel
We’ve lost, for the cost of us, what

We thought we had and want to keep.
We are the Earth’s. Earth is not ours.

Earth’s Life So Far

He cuts the strings

And dines on blooms

And when he knows

He’ll starve, he’s pleased.

Now, you can type

In a star’s name

And, in a tick,

Find out how far

From you it is.

I mean . . . the plots

Are like mapped dreams

That run from you,

From all of us.

Let’s cut the strings.

The flowers taste fine.

Stars are so far.

A Storm of Stars

The shade of all change,
All that there has been,
Swirls and bursts in lights.

How did names take off
From points, thumps, and mime
To where they could mean

What was, but not there,
And then what was not,
But had been, and then

That which had not been,
What could not have been,
But still was, as name,

Was meant but was not
But what it might mean
If it weren’t just meant?

A new way to be,
To not be, but mean.
The days flit by, swift

As birds, thoughts of gods,
Things that are, that mean,
The shades of all change.