The Stars

Poisoned by the slow blue light,

Like some minute form of life

On the surface of a pond, the stars

Sink inertly into the depths. At dusk

They return, unnoticed and unregretted-

Like the return of a forgotten sadness.

What sun in us went down and left us open to

lost time, dragged from the invisible,

Glistening in the net of its constellations-

While days relentless flow cools to ash

And distances too vast to comprehend,

Draw slowly closer, like a procession

Of black-shawled women, singing

Their ancient soothing canticles to death.