I remember how bright the stars were
and how a comet streamed across the sky
right as we met under a summer’s night
at that folk music festival in Alban, Vermont
when the world seemed full of endless joy
and tears were uncried and nobody died.
I remember how dark the night was,
how none of the stars came out to shine,
how no comets streamed in the sky,
on that tragic moonless, empty night
when that chronic depression became too much
and you walked into Lake Champlain and died.
Bob Boyd