Ceaselessly do I wander and scrabble in the dark,
Nothing more than half a person, looking for the one
Whose peaks match my valleys; whose ins match my outs.
And so I lift this rusty, heavy lantern high, as it issues forth with feeble blue light,
Looking for specks like grounded stars in the cold darkness.

Once or twice have I seen, off in the distance,
A light somewhat brighter than usual,
A Sirius or a Vega lighting up the night, and once did I spy a fair Mars,
His ruddy glow beckoning from just over yonder,
But when I turned and ran towards the glimmering speck, eager to unite,
I looked up and saw it gone, as if never there.

Across this pale desert sand, still I wander;
Shall I succeed in my task,
Or will I expend my every last steaming breath in a futile search?
The task I meet is simple, though:
I am looking for one whose name I do not know and whose face I have never seen.

The number of my footsteps is an countable limit ordinal,
The glow of my lantern is measured in a few threadbare photons,
And the number of stars around me, sparkling as if to both taunt and beckon, is beyond count.
I must believe that one day my lantern will at last bump into another,
And that its owner and I will fit each other well - else why not but lie forever in the soft white sand?