There is a streetlight Outside my window. It shudders and shakes And makes the world As bright as it can For as long as it can Before dying A thousand times a minute. It cannot decide to shine Or go dark Or leave this place behind. It clings to the importance Of its flickering life Across the darkest part of the world. As if the intermittences Of its appointment Will save a life Or move a mountain Or light the way. It gives itself over and over For an empty street In a wasteland Without a soul to behold It’s glorious sacrifices. If I had a say in this Or anything at all I would whisper to the dying light And lower it gently down Into the darkness with me. I would show it what is left Of my own shudders And we could both sleep Knowing we are not as alone As we were before. Leaving the blue-black street To the moon And the stars Or whoever is left With some light to spare.