In lieu of thoughts, my favorite poem.

A Night Without Stars  (Nancy Eimers)

And the lake was a dark spot
                                       on a lung.
Some part of its peace was dead; the rest was temporary.  Sleeping
       ducks and geese,
gooseshit underfoot              
                                   and wet gray blades of grass.
The fingerlings like sleeping bullets            
                                                 hung deep in the troughs of the hatchery
and cold traveled each one end to end,
such cold,        
            such distances.

We lay down in the grass on our backs--
beyond the hatchery the streetlights were mired in fog and so
there were no stars,         
                         or stars would say there was no earth.

Just a single homesick firefly lit on a grass blade.
Just our fingers      
                   curled and clutching grass,
this dark our outmost hide, and under it      
                                                       true skin.