tonight I'm considering stars as they continue

to change their shapes with the passage of time;

not about the war in the middle east or

hungry children in central Africa or

what Mort Sahl would have said about Donald Trump...

but of what the stars will look like

one hundred thousand years from now.

(although the pictures they make tonight make little sense

without connecting lines drawn by man to define the imagery)

to quote an old, regional poem-writer: "a sky full of stars

and I still can't make out the pictures"... a line which won't

change its attitude in my lifetime. 

in one hundred thousand years the "Big Dipper"

will be bent out of shape. it’ll look arthritic.

in common application it'll be useless for delivering

tomato sauce to the cosmic linguine.

my God! what’ll the kids say when the "Big Dipper" can no longer

hold its goods and even my ash has blown free of the Earth?