for Dale, for Fred, for Carl, for T.J.,
for Michigan, for all of us
Sometimes we are the lone star,
blinking in the deepening night.
Sometimes we are vanquished,
reeling in defeat.
Sometimes shamed and crouching;
known only to ourselves.
Hard, hard spaces
badly fit for our eccentric shapes,
but there is
in our tender cores,
our transient glory,
our dreaming wonder,
a lusting to endure.