Tonight I cannot see the stars or moon.
Clouds have taken from my view all light.

I cannot see my hands or feet but know that they exist.
This Stone is here against my chest but nothing else is known.

I am invisible. All is gone, except my voice
asking who is speaking in this darkness.

I had a name—some syllables I answered to.
but on this hill I am nothing but a being struggling to exist.

Do flowers know their names?
Do trees that we call oak or juniper

know their identity? Do grapes we pick
and pour into a cup as wine

celebrate their adventure? What do they know,
about our being here that I don’t know?

If only we had language that would let us speak
about this darkness? If only we could join our voices

like a chorus and, in unison call out for some reply,
some knowledge, some light.

I shiver in this darkness. I grope and lift my foot
but do not know if where I step is ground

or some abyss where I will fall in emptiness
into a darkness more unknown.

Here I have no name, no face, no hands or feet—
nothing but this weight, this voice, these memories,

this need to speak to you, Dear Stars,
this urge to take another step.