Crying the long tear
Because in my lung, a tear.
You should have been here.
There were three triangles on stage.
The show was for one precisely your age.
Up into the half light, I could see
The tiniest window in my poetry,
Which five scientists, around a telescope,
Having looked out of, froze all scientific hope.
My poetry would not be studied, nor read.
The life seen on this particular star is dead.
Did you see me moving around?
Does this poem have sound?
I saw it. I saw Emily Dickinson there.
Not her. A poem and a rhyme that’s rare.