Static Hum

We are immortal
But will fade so young
Matter cannot die, still,
We are ash on the tongue
Of the great, black sky
Where all matter fell, hence,
Where all matter goes nigh
Blind sparks flash red
Brazing in the night, tied,
Solder ‘s treasure made tool
Dripping unrecognized
To the dust underfoot
Life ties man, twain,
love rots in the web
Fate a pretty little spinner;
We are flies in her bed
And we hum - sing desperately -
Aching bright songs
That will call all others
To her grinding jaws.