Heavenly Park
At day’s end, when the sun’s myriad campfires recede,
light a torch with the fire Prometheus seized
and join me at a Dark Sky Park.
Earth’s hot. A new plague landed. Nightfall is safer.
Maybe we’ll find remnants of a shiny meteorite
to hang at home.
I’ll fix a moonrise picnic on a beach of stardust
with a view of Andromeda and the Milky Way,
while we can, before the stars explode.
Cosmic beauty may portend the end—the Big Crunch
or Big Rip or Quantum Bubble—dark energy isn’t loyal.
It may catch us unawares, between bites of barbecued tofu
or between breaths, as we gaze at the North Star.