No desert is as sere
as empty space. Why do you weep?
This crossing is not free.
It never was; not free,
not without cost. You wander sere
and barren galaxies; I weep
and wonder, did they weep,
the stars, when spacetime set them free
to wander skies so sere?
Too sere, my heart. Love, weep no more: fly free.
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