But we had music. Right this minute, across time zones and opinions, people are making plans, making means, making promises and tombs. While at the center of our galaxy, a black hole with a mass of 4 billion suns screams its open mouth, kiss of oblivion. Sunday it will swallow Euclid's postulates and a goldbird variation, swallow calculus and leaves a price. I know this. And still, when the constellation of starlings flickers across the evening sky, it is enough to stand here for an irrevocable minute and gap with wonder. It is eternity.