This Joy In The Night Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Now there is this joy in the night that
I don't know—the movie theatre is virtually abandoned—
And you are abandoned:
There is only your echo—
And the night cries without you, infecting my ears
And my cheeks—
Giving infatuated goldfish to my promises—
And in the middle of the night, the fair gets up and moves
Away—and then there occurs the most beautiful of
Nebulas over the clouds—
Until the sunlight vanishes over the highways—and
God shuts his mouth, figuring out that was all that was important
That he had left to say.