Omens
suns novaed millennia ago
shine lately on my horizon
I wonder what lives lived thereon
and died in actinic flare
across a million years the voices cry,
only now impinging on my helpless ears,
too late—oh, so late—for any rescue
what sacrifices made so long ago
to warn us now of dire needs—
if you believe in omens and portents….
else they scream vainly down the ages
