From the old boneyard on the hill you can see
all the streets lit up, stars in town below
— that motorcycle is a shooting star …
and in the distance there's the moonlit ferry
bound for its astral port on the far shore.
But here, old verse beneath a cedar tree:
 
    Remember, ere long you too must have
    Like me an earth house in the grave
 
And in the darkness, the star lights of cars
coming and going, on roads, through the night.