XII. Transience

Here, in this humble courtyard,
there are stones enough to hold us.
They contain more than we will ever know
of epochs and evolutions,
perhaps entire worlds lost
in the fine lines of a geological map.

Darling,
Who will discover our accidental remains?
How will these bones decay?
Who will examine our bent spoons,
this jaw, your mother's porcelain
tea cups, this warped chair?

The moon is bright tonight,
clouds dip into her womb of light.
The tiny stars are her capricious cousins,
scattered, but close.
Their light, sent centuries ago,
has just arrived for us.
The stones glow.

With the pure dust of our happiness,
We feed the rocks.