I have no hope, but only this:
that moonlight on a garbage can lid
is beautiful, and not a beauty wasted.
A million stars may strike and miss,
but that does not make their beauty aimless.
And I have no hope, but only this.

And I have no hope, but only this:
that beauty will supperate from the press
of our inexpressible beastliness.
It will visit with moonlight our allies of dread,
and gild our silences with words unuttered.
I have no hope, but only this.