Gloss on a Line by Whitmanby Lewis Turco
Night, sleep, death and the stars.
Darkness slips out of the moon
as shadows beneath me, behind me.
There is a low wind sniffing along the ground
like an old hound looking for a lost scent.
If he finds it I shall follow
until we arrive at a lair
where we may rest
and heaven cover us
with a dusting of light.