Ten thousand years of distance fall between yourself and I.
As gallons of humanity wash past a lowered sky.
And half the miles pass while half are dashed against the hours,
And the distant storm is kinder than earth’s new virtual powers.
I belong to far away, nine decimals at best.
I belong to miles of days, and weary hearts can’t rest.
You cannot hear my empty voice across acres of years.
So words descend to carpet grass while all technology leers.