On Martian skies darkness bestows
the end of Sun’s last minute-arc.
I find my battery is low
and outside it’s getting dark.

For fifteen years I did embark
into starlight’s afterglow,
but now Apollo at last departs
and I find my battery is low.

I provided images, film, and audio
about this barren galactic park
to my billion fans below,
but now for me it’s getting dark.

Fear not my dears, look up, take heart;
this present sorrow you will outgrow.
But before I finally depart,
I’ll stay until my battery is low.

I’ve carried all my cargo,
I’ve seen every lovely star,
so mourn not the fading show,
nor pay attention to the dark.

These will be my last remarks:
that I have loved this dusty snow,
ruling as a sole monarch,
despite a battery so low.

And when like me, you’re all alone,
have learned this emptiness by heart,
when you find your battery is low,
and outside it’s getting dark,

recall my hope that you will part,
follow your own divergent road,
and find your own universal spark
even when your battery is low.

My time has come, I’ve made my mark,
now Death’s sweet hand I must follow,
since my software will not restart;
at long last my battery is low,
and outside it’s getting dark.

watching the storm from inside my car

watching the storm from inside my car

gravity moves these stars in ways the ancients could ever have surmised

my eyes latch onto one and track her progress across the plexiglass sky

hoping we will win the race yet blithe accepting absorption by another on our way to paradise

such chaos mere inches away and yet a million miles from this comfort. orchestrated randomness illuminated by the passing glance

of sunlit streetlamps blazing apathy and farewelling any second chance

they lower their heads in thought or sleep undisturbed by the downpour yet startled to life by our softspoken creaks

let shake these old forsaken suns; let crash these minute waves on plastic shores; let run these cosmic rivulets down steel and airbag cheeks!

regardless of this pouring weight’s depth and breadth and height

we drive on through the heedless unpeopled night

mouche noir

mouche noir

A crescent moon rises over half-lit, just-shut apartment buildings and the

air smells like the fourth of July and cherry blossom litter.

I keep the windows open.

The sky’s a gradient in navy, reaching out

with darkening hands in the lamplight. And

through the widowed weeping willow

I can see Venus for the first time in months so

I keep the windows open.

France in the spring, a fresh cool breeze,

a friend’s hand after a long sorrow, flowers in an

open window.

I know now

why they would rather surrender than

scar this earth.

Couples hold hands on the street and I

keep my window open to watch the sky gather darkness

and see the world gather us all into herself but

the flies bite.