I sat with you under the stars at night
That shy away from the jealous breeze.
I watched you with the little stars at night
That sink below the anxious hairs along the ridge..
Almost. Almost. Almost.
Almost.
Oh, my distinguished and almost existing guest,
The tactile remembrance that surround my fingers at best
will ride my heart to meet the numbing pain of such a lonely rest.
my neck won't turn its dusty head
my foot won't lift to the gentler curb
My eyes will rest their tired sparks
My shadow will hope not to disturb
the rust the rock the root and the rut.