what’s left unknown weighs down  until we bleat
in rage and fear then leave off being bold
for better nights and stories wiser told
as those with longer practice wait the fleet
leaving the late ones to patrol the street
in angry silence so while it is cold
as the dew rises and the night turns old
the urgent and the foolish still may meet
this is the game of rats that always prey
upon the leavings that once made for joy
cast away now beneath the starless sky
as every denizen flees from the day
in certainty that even truth’s a toy
and honour turns out just another lie