Who will help me to starve tonight
and all the nights which may yet come?
The round moon makes a wide arc
away from me, I am already too slim for it.
How I would love it now to drop my eyes
like gravel from the window,
for a drunk down in the street
to tread them deep into first snow.
But even blind, I would still
know everything and see you leave
over again, for sparks climb
like stars of hunger from my crying.
