Lost in the dark, no eye to find,
a speck of dust which the night keeps blind.

Far off in dark grass—
a small glow-worm’s stubborn light—
time keeps ticking on.

I do not know if I will reach it,
this light pinned against the black distance,
but the clock does not stop, it stops for nobody,
this field does not end where my limited sight does,
no, it goes on endlessly.
So I walk anyway, to where I hope is somewhere,
not because I am certain,
but because somewhere out there
something is still burning,
and that has to be enough
to keep moving toward.