Sorrow

I am sad. There is no help for it.
one by one the stars fled
from me like frightened animals
disappearing into holes; one by
one the rivers ran to the sea
and did not come back. I live
in this dry world, and am reminded
of Mars, which we thought had
life, canals like Venice, until
we were proven wrong and alone
in our sad orbit. The moon
is covering her kind face as
I write. The crickets have packed
up their small orchestras
and will not return. Winter
is waiting with its sharp icicles.
The sun, miserly, will not
fill my sky to the brim of noon.
All I have now is you
tender night, how you fill me, 
love these words out
of me, so that I will not drown
on them until I die.