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Star Struck

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No distant lights’ extinguishment entombs.
Not flight but time records our last embrace.
Winking skies waken with our flares and flumes:
As prospered we, so we our signs efface.

Each side of spaces wide our pastures lie:
Your soul and mine run distances askew.
Why harbored life against such force belie
Black holes and currents from Creation’s brew.

Time was the ends of things seemed in measure;
The age of men was counted by the books.
But now again perpetual pleasure
Upends our plans turning scales to neat hooks.

So we stepped out of orbit for the nonce,
And you slipped off forever—but ‘just once.’