i am pressed into the earth
as a flower into an old fat tome
and the dust covers everything
while the wind races silently above
it is cold comfort;
an endless repose hidden from the sun
not a tear but a dry mummification
against the corrosion of the world

i looked up and into time
deep into the cold and pin-pricked black
and i saw a silvery star go out
like an eye that stopped looking back

i looked up and into space
and the witnesses went away
one after one after one
they fell, lost to the night, lost to the day
until we were consumed
by the ever growing darkness