You are a pinprick, a dust trail,

A mote of heading off for home,

The singularity of brightness in a cold sky

When there is only a single watcher

Within many thousands of lightyears.

You are the decision, the choice,

The process by which all dreams are dreamt

To pick this moment on this night

And this quadrant of the sky

(to know that there is only one watcher)

To be assured that the message

Is not lost, is not stolen, is not overlooked.

You are a pinprick of feeding the hungry,

A rejoinder to the sliding eyes which

Fail entirely to see, or the scrutiny

When the others pause to look:

A single spot of spirituality, crux of charity,

And in your leavings a flash of gold

Marks the moment of demise.