When all my entanglements of matter
rework themselves, molecules twist
into sea wrack, kapok, coati mundi
or are blown in the interstellar winds
into the space between things,
they may, before the universe declines,
be split into their atoms, be swirled
into a new, though never new, gas cloud,
be recombined into another star.
Maybe just a hydrogen or two I borrowed
for a flick of time, will be there, the suns
and moons, once deep in my electrolytes,
may still mimic the system they left.
They saw the start, will be part of how it ends.
Simon Williams is a poet from Devon. He tweets @GreatBigBadger