A Silhouette Against Starlight

On his knees, he prays before the precipice
of twilight, a vastness he yearns for
but cannot comprehend,
with his hands cupped in his lap,
lank and weak and slack
while what remains of the edge of the world
dissolves and slips into the black.

He prays for wandering worlds to come and fill the cavity
that has eaten away his face and ribs.
He prays for comet tails and pulsars,
for a solar wind to sweep him off that ledge
like a pillar of salt and sand
into what he dreams must be eternity,
where he might rejoin the stars.