There are stars so far away
their light has yet to reach us
and when it finally shines
on us, the stars themselves
will have already fizzled out.
The things of this world
never go away—matter’s
neither created nor destroyed.
A log in the fireplace, hushed
voices in the night, you can see
the universe at work: a knot pops,
becomes smoke, heat, light, ash.
It’s said that the dead live on
in the memories of the living.
That’s also where they’re always
leaving. Sparks bursting bear little
likeness to the smoldering
piles of morning’s first light.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 15, Issue 1.
Brian Simoneau’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Boulevard, Cave Wall, The Collagist, Crab Orchard Review, DIAGRAM, The Georgia Review, North American Review, Salamander, and other journals. His work is also included in Two Weeks: A Digital Anthology of Contemporary Poetry. He lives in Boston with his wife and their two young daughters.
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