On my own

It seems to me that the light has slipped out of the universe. So here's another Mark Granier poem from his collection called Fade Street:

Sing, Words

That you may survive
those star-grazed years after I've
gone back to where I'm going: air

of a song, dead air, my dark star
set in the glimmerless hush,
cool enough to touch.

Sing, that something remain
of these epic, mundane
conversations hoofing it down my back

clicketty clack--
that you may hit or miss
with a flourish, a backdraught, a hiss

like intaken breath. Life itches to get out
of its mildewed coats,
glint with the motes turning

in a slanted beam--O sing
the slow schoolboy's daydream
counting them in.

Now I have to read it aloud to myself.