Old comet ice caught deep against the moon
by John Pilkey
Awaits its thaw like phoenix ash alone
Where nothing hears its chilly, silent groan
For liquefying, warm revival soon
Except the God who answers ice when noon
Has frozen into midnight with a moan
And heavenly ears sip softly from the tone
Of every dim petition still in tune.
We've floated long enough in endless chill
By borrowed light where wandering comets spill
Their hanging hair despairing of the sun
Because they cannot locate anyone
Except us living dead who hide our face
And beg for animation deep in space.