Realist

Under no illusions
As to his length of stay,
Described best by now as,
“Here today, gone today,”
He made preparations
To prepare his heart;
It sank,
But he was ready to depart.
Hardly enough time
To savor infinity;
No time at all
To cross the galaxy;
Swung in a great spiral
Shining in complete night.
Not enough time to tell here from there,
Let alone wrong from right.
Time closed on him
Out of infinite space,
Staring in a dim mirror
At an unfamiliar face;
Light pierced him like arrows;
He was seldom satirical,
His mind was too muddled by sorrow,
His heart too stunned by miracle.
He held his love by night,
Wrapped in a quiet wonder,
Listening in silence
To distant thunder.
Listening to the night
Move restlessly away:
Waiting for light,
Waiting for death,
Waiting for day.