Their shapes remain, specters of behemoths.
I remain in this galaxy of ashes,
the last light well past forgotten. And all is still,
the grand, outward voyage finished.
We all slumber: the husks of planets,
the ghosts of time, and you
and I, this consciousness. This is how time ends.
In silence and in stillness, and in such darkness.
The slightest stir would ripple the Universe
into dust. Was there but one breath to stir,
I would that it be yours. Could I
but pull the universe upon itself
to explode again with you.
--Matt Thomas (2007)