When I go away from you
  The world beats dead
  Like a slackened drum.
 I call out for you against the jutted stars
  And shout into the ridges of the wind.
 Streets coming fast,
  One after the other,
  Wedge you away from me,
  And the lamps of the city prick my eyes
  So that I can no longer see your face.
 Why should I leave you,
  To wound myself upon the sharp edges of
   the night?