Son et Lumière

Gazing up at the stars
he gets to wondering
how many will die
right now, right this second
and how many light-years
would it take before
we’d even notice
they were gone.

Frost, a late one, settles
in the glen, and he sighs
as he tucks the body
of a lamb beneath his arm...
It hadn’t stood a chance,
rejected by its mother;
as if it could help
being born black, or even
as if it mattered.

Back on his patch
the cold and the death
chill his bones,
as an oil lamp flickers
at his kitchen window.
In the distance, towns
like glimmering galaxies
would do their damndest
to consume lorn lights
such as his.