When I enter in to that moonless night
by the gleaming of a billion dead stars
I will remember how rare Earth was
how bright and full and nearly impossible.
Over spindly tall grass and red clay I will tread
where hackberry and mesquite glance over my head
the way to my descent.
Like sanctuary for exile among indifferent space
mine will be a better sacrament of praise—
I will keep it close, and safe
when I enter in
where dead stars live.