Space Burial

How life grows out of fiction
Everything suspended for a time
It is not completely empty

Although an approximation of a teardrop
passes quickly by and fades
you are sinking to the level of old kings

How the sea awaits your silver ship,
reflecting the stars, dead and dying still
in the eyes of sibilant travellers

Nothing makes any more sense
from this height
but of course it is a spectacular view

The way the chthonic light clarifies the huge dark—
it’ll make a great story.
Beneath the surface murmurs a great silence

as you speak now in stones and dust
the earth turns and you turn
before the earth turns to receive you

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