Pale Blue Dot

I think I knew an easy way to be,
in moments light and green, upon your face.
The present was a gift, our futures free,
til, past avail, I drifted out to space.
But miles framed the fathoms of your depth:
fair wells, foul mouths, on open shafts to Hell;
and solitude made whole, your shoulders’ breadth,
in fields of view remote and tread unwell.
I used to know the look upon your face
would soon admit, as open as my eye,
your innocence—vanish without a trace,
but linger with me, as it said, “Goodbye.”
Don’t leave me, yet. Say, “Stop,” and I’ll refrain.
I promise, Earth: I’ll live to stop your pain.