The past casts light as a faint star on the edge of space
Reaching from the depths of depthless black
The Caretaker sifts fingers between  the soot
It’s my fault, He says.  And molecules can’t come back
It’s madness
The cobbler draws his eyepiece, selects a tack
History is a sheath of imagination tucked at the seams
Their words the clack of the planets on their tracks
Heaven is the never we forever grieve