This earth will grow cold,
a star among stars
             and one of the smallest,
a gilded mote on blue velvet—
        I mean this, our great earth.
This earth will grow cold one day,
not like a block of ice
or a dead cloud even
but like an empty walnut it will roll along
             in pitch-black space…
You must grieve for this right now
—you have to feel this sorrow now—
for the world must be loved this much
                  if you’re going to say ‘I lived’…