The Astronomer's Lament

My heart is light years away from me: Five years and counting, By my calculations, Since the giant rift rent up the moon from the world. My scopes still observe Our last conversation, Gravity's slippage And orbit's decay. Space is a dead dark screen where the dead Reappear in the mind's desperation. The image will dwindle But when? One might as well rack up The distance to heaven Or measure the space in my chest.