Nose pressed against the cold glass
Blinking at the streetlights
That are trying to outshine the stars
That retreated behind their clouds.

Watching the orange bulbs
Glaring relentlessly at me
Marching in straight lines
Along the street.

Because at some point
The lights started to think
That in their overwhelming number
They outnumbered the stars.
And that in their sophistication
They were better than the fireflies
And the stars and fireflies left
Leaving the streetlights to rule.

But there is none of that
Familiar choking in my throat
And the weirdest calm
In my head.
And that is stranger than
The streetlights governing
But not as gnawing as
The empty space in me.