Outstretched in my gray
the winter night settles into the black sand
as I think of theft. Different thefts. I, having never taken
still see things in the dark.
(Thieves that I'm thinking of) they persist the things
in the twirling unseen stars. These are still city stars.
Not stars, here.
I am in the dark, outside the city.
The three black plastic buttons
of my coat lock
me in for the night,
and are not enough.
if I'd done worse you'd have known
No stars here
around the fire, where
you've got to touch the flames to feel them