Those nights when sleep is fleeting and my dreams
Are fainter than a nightlight in the darkness
Come creeping more and more so now, it seems.
I'm weeping not because the sky is starless,
And not because the moon has hid its face,
But rather since they never seemed to be
At all. No constellations there to trace,
No northern star to guide, that I may see
This all-consuming grief as sweet relief.