I give thanks again that long nights, though they’re lonely,
they’re lit by stars, they end with suns that climb
and the moon will back me up on this. Just look up.
“But the moon won’t take you out to wine and dine.”
I know, but there her hand is on my shoulder.
“But every evening we still hear you whine and whine.”
I know, I know, but, like a sibling, I neglect her
but we have no choice. I’m hers and she is mine
and she is yours and you are hers and we’re each other’s.
“Oh shut up, Phil. You’re just shouting empty rhymes.”
I know. The world is alone.
This light’s on loan until we have grown
old enough to pay it back with our gruesome rotting
and our lives are just long saggings of the spine
so here I sit, hunched over my candle in the dark night,
thanks giving, here I hug my sorrow tight.