out of a smoking jeepney,
walking through this street,
half of which was silence,
yet when nearing the light,
small clouds of darkness live,
from the hush-and-puff mouths
(like whispered howls of cold wolves)
of the dying disciples of light.

there,
among the littlest stars,
held by minute nebulae,
you i saw.
how do i love thee?
i can never count the ways.

passing this alley,
there,
you i saw,
yet not you i,
how will you love me?
*there are ways, yet for i, thou have none.