Waiting And Stuff Poem by Brian Mayo

If gravity
should one day grow old and weak,
its tenuous hold on the planets slipped at last
and the suns
wink-out one-by-one,
galaxies extinguished like scattered embers
it seems only right
that I, too, should perish.
If there is any truth to infinity
my atoms
will someday come together again
reassembling in a region of space
so distant
as to be yet unborn,
unaware
of grand concepts and foolish notions
like
eternity.