Many winter nights,
instead of seeking
pardon—
or, in lieu
of the warmth of
reconciliation,
simply to sooth and
unburden one another—
we stagger as sailors
alone out of doors
and search the night
sky for our
direction. As if
the constellations
even grasped their
own existence.
As if those storied
pictures in the stars
owed any explanation
or solace
to ours.
