Dotting the i's

Do join me then at decade's close?
What's become - of punctuated weeks,
Suspended now at midnight's toll,
Ha'e left us a moment to speak.

Then to part ways, to decohere,
To separate stars like we never were;
They'll find you there as good as old,
And here shall I open at your close.

O' many like me'd heart your name,
'Gainst godly odds while you prevailed;
Rare falters that subtle did bare,
Misery of thy divine ordain!

(But names withdraw, letters derail,
Return absurd animal cries,
That plead to senses to no avail,
My childish ways I've cast aside.)

So meet me now at age's end;
We find in safe interstice,
Eternity in a moment's grace -
Precious dot... in verbose abyss.