A Memory Of Once That Was

He reaches down to grasp the sand,
the red grit stains his gloved hand.
A thin wind casts
some grains astray, as they fall
under salmon hued sky.
His oxygen is low.
He begins to cry.

A silver line describes an arc
above, like a ribbon unwrapped.
He is trapped.
Doomed to die,
in this dry and frozen desert tomb.

A red light comes on.
His air is gone.
Life seeps from toes,
prickling as it goes.
Eyes close.

One million years later he will be here.
The last of men, apart and far.
A memory of once that was,
encircling a long lost star.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.