You beg me for honesty,
Yet you demand entertainment.
Won’t you take my word
For even a cigarette’s light?
I want to whistle with you tonight,
Walk beside your pocketknife;
To be short cut,
I’d measure every straw.
But you’ve switched off the lights,
And the sky looks like a dark glass screen.
We can only see ourselves,
From such astronomical distance:
And I know why
The dark matters.
Poetry arrangement by Adam Mahout