Sleep is forgotten, and emptiness presses. About the abandoned house, a bitter trim Of snow-become-ice stiffens the gutters, Shines an outline of once-human habitation In steel, sterile light--a still trace Of that which had flowed with human warmth All summer, and all through rueful fall endured.... It shines beyond winter's feeblest branch Far into the chill annihilation of final skies. Those remote familiar stars, the human Outlines of constellations' pallid myths, Congregate their austere silvers all together, And, all together, they coldly turn away. They have other planets to look down upon tonight.