Has sleep deserted you as well?
Eloped with the moon and left us in the dark?
Wine in hand, I ramble the small apartment,
lift wistful match to lavender candles,
count plodding steps like unwilling sheep.  

In the alley, a vagrant can rattles
its sentiments, banging and recoiling
in the windy gloom, bounding off walls,
echoing the tally of its own clattered orbit,
oblivious to the vacuum within.  

Rejoice the emptiness it seems to say.
Let gale and time mock our restless bones.
What else can we do
but feast the grace of lightness.
Dance.  Fly.