He points at the star  —
“That star was me once,
high on accolades,
floating on publicity,
viewed by telescopes.”

I point at the street lamp —
“Is it worth less, then,
to be the gleam of light
in the kitchen window?
Is it worth less
to help some poor soul
find his way home?”

He said he’d think about it.

I hope he finds his way home.