I will predict that all could end.
That time should slip
and suns should burn
has never been a single truth.
If you and I should get up and go,
and all the stars should follow close,
and for reasons-I cannot say
we should part on that loss,
then losing all the light of day–
the warmth of summer air–
the joy of springtime rain
would not compare to your vanishing
because a thousand billion burnt-out suns
would not leave a blackness as vast
as the hole from which I had once loved.