God’s death was the big bang,
Stars the embers of the pyre.
Life has been mourning ever since.
Rumi’s caravan spread across eons of time,
Picking up shreds of evidence of God’s existence.
I listened in a room full of believers, ones who
Tell us to revel in life.
I want to tell them they are wrong, wrong,
Wrong. The more we look, the smaller
We get. And we should be like this
And cheer? If I’m nothing but fading warmth
In dying ash, I at least want the strength
To touch the next star and whisper something beautiful.