I see them look up to where
they cannot be.
I feel their wishes collide
with the magnified need
of their wandering, pagan hearts.
The spirits of their departed
float past in silent cloaks of dust,
reflecting our own futures.
They send up their
rockets and space toys,
cluttering their sky
as we watch them
implode.
We will grieve the day
they go dark forever,
and all they knew
floats silently past us
into the past.
Beyond Panic 