In the darkness out there,
the lights are little worlds:
Headlights of the workers driving north,
miners’ lamps up on the mountain,
the blinking of an airplane, eastward bound,
the corona of a yellow street lamp.
Out on the water, there is a moving light
from a crab boat heading out before dawn.
If there are stars about,
they are hidden by fog
and the moon is nowhere to be seen.
Here inside where love has been
one lone candle flickers.