I’m pretty sure that death will wipe me out,
though some cosmic way
I don’t yet know about
may have a different say.
The only thing I sometimes think about
are the times that go
when my own time runs out,
how nobody will know
the reckless things my grandmother would say
when no one was about.
Yes – her spark will out
when I’m gone away.
Is it the same for everyone I know:
carrying about
small cinders as they go?
Will all those flames blow out
of things they didn’t think to speak about
but saved some way?
Is that why stars go out,
is that what cold stars say?
