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I don’t know? Something extraordinary. Nothing bitter like a wind of winter late, Whose duty is to bite for cold. I see upon a wide black canvas plane The striking of magnificence into the eye, The brain. A billion billion dotted brights All stirring and still; Straight heavenward, straight up Amongst that gradient band. I look to my feet and behave weighty: The garish lamps of the city, Its refuse strewn from black tar to ink sky. Dingy sheets are cast in blank shadows, And graffitied walls mimic a greater design. I look to stars, and see something, I don’t know? Something extraordinary.