We are real people
with actual things to do.
We are not merely waiting
And hurtling our magnitude down invisible tracks,
Yet we ourselves drag moons.
Our moons, like yours, luminesce
And wrack our shores with aching tides.
Don’t break our wills
For without an ellipse our course is apocalypse.
Dark and cataclysm for wandering spheres
But if we stay the route of our own gravities
We can become pins of light,
Perhaps a Seat of life.