Oh, gravest star!
Such a wary little lighthouse
watching in the dark
our miseries and poignant pleas

how bored you must be!

For so sat I, embattled in a café
these grumbling bones in order stowed:
first old lovers, with naked buds
makeshift friends dancing upon their nose
second, young Thomas Toy
his hands tied, his feet cold
a warning melting in his mouth:
"This verse," he told me, "remember the key."
"How so?" I dared ask.
"Remember the stumbling block of sleep.
Remember, and let it keep.

With so much hope, I can near see it:
of friends already fallen
their paths of his design
of a life, or least, a feeling
its colors undefined
of hands unused, though worn
furrowing with waste

If so, I couldn’t blame you
for drowning in the sea
in truth, I would near desire it—
just to light the dark
yes, light the dark
and meet the world beneath.

But jealousy aside
you cannot long to die
in hindsight, even worse—
we’re all a second gamble.

Oh, beloved star
just a laughing little lighthouse
watching in the dark
our miseries and poignant pleas

how happy you must be.