We put these offerings out
into the blunt nothing of tomorrow,
then wheel about and drift off
impatient to gather more

and all our works and amusements
all delights and suffering
lie unclaimed
sliding into yesterdays

they will waste until our bones
are no more than a smear
beneath a rubble

until we and everything
known to our kind
have vaporized and seeded the cosmos

and somewhere the light is lifting
and fragments gather into wholes