The blackened streetlamp's stubborn light Illuminates invisibly the empty sea, A something precisely impossible to see. A something in you, in me. The evening's clamped, inverted bowl Pretends the stars are pining down, and stare. But their burning eyes are otherwhere; Only you and I are here. Only you and I are here, And something stubborn that stares and stares, That dropped us open into evening's emptiness. Something neither you, nor I, can guess.