I make a discovery.
The city has been harvesting the stars
while we’ve been working.
Every time I look up,
more and more of the twinklings
meant to be hovering over me
with a knowing glow,
are no longer decorating the heavens.
they sleep with rags on our streets,
hungrily counting the passing cars.
Our dreams fuel this maddened,
where the earth illuminates the black night.
Every hour that we work overtime,
every friend’s birthday
postponed for a less busy week,
every moment we think
that earthly ambitions
are more important than living,
another star lethargically deflates
and falls into the greedy,
claws of the city.