Itβs a cold and moonless country night He wanders alone, under dim starlight. Squinting, he stalls, he trips and he falls, Through fields of clovers, his fingertips crawl. An extra leaf he seeks for her delight, Long heβs walked, endless days and nights.
She watches him stumble from the stars above, Twinkling, dazzling, burning, to help him along. She sighs, she calls, over the horizon she sprawls, Her silk-knit net to break his falls. Yet he moves on, and on, singing unknown songs, He read once in her fresh-press books, where he belongs.
Droopy-eyed he reaches a precipitous drop Far below him, still waters shine, sprinkled with stars Perilously poised, of this deceit he knows not Caught in her silken weaves, he trips, dives, Drips as a drop.