"I Hope We Don’t Need a New Dark Thing”

The hard part is that the sky
Does not have a lot of light.

It does, of course, if we count,
But what do summed stars come to?

Bright points and points in the dark.
They say, The dark’s grown too fast.

They say, The light’s spread too thin.
They are us, of course, who count,

And whose world mind of small minds
Grinds out thoughts on what’s too much—

Should be more—feels right to us.
Well, it’s not out there, is it?

It’s all in us, plus the thoughts—
It’s not out there; it’s in us.

But how could it mean a thing,
For the real to be out there,

Or the real to be in us,
If we can’t say, if we don’t

Have a say? Out there—in us—
That choice was not up to us.