The dead aren’t that exactly
they’d say the same of us
if we would listen but they know we
won’t so, they poke holes in the sky.
They poke holes in the sky and
set big burning candles there on
the shoulder of the warrior
and the tip of bow and
the horn of the bull
and on the scales.
It’s a vigil, really,
but they don’t stay long
they have all the time
in our life to pity us
but, they’d rather play Frisbee with galaxies
or go sky diving in black holes or
After all, they know we’ll
be there soon enough and
they’ll say I told you so and
we’ll say you never told us and
they’ll say we poked holes in the sky.