Claire says the day will be one second longer.

Darkness will no longer exceed light.

But the weather is abysmal,

so hatred of gloom is not an option. I want to live

to be ninety-five, too, and still be assembling

words into music and truth. For now,

I regard a conference of stars, with fast-moving clouds.

Sometimes my dreams are like explosion pits,

with scary lava. Yet the Earth remains constant,

tilting away from the sun and back,

like a robin to a bare branch.

Be somebody with a body, the stars command;

Don't be a nobody. I know them by heart,

as they sink and as they rise.