I’ve gained this night, at least a bit of its glory,
by sharing it with no one but myself.
So I wander, as I wonder,Where am I this night?
And I begin to weep, like an orphan growing old.
When a man’s days seem irrelevantand uncollected, it’s like a stale dream,
a lifeless story.
But then I think, Maybe I’m missing the point.There’s always a reason for things—maybe, anyway.
Anyway, why question it.
December air, cold sky alight with shooting stars.I’ve made a few wishes, I’ll be the first to admit,
and I’ll share them with everyone but myself.
From the book Kairos (print version only)