A picture looking for a poem

We're looking for a poem tonight, one that rhymes with happiness.

He's looking in the same direction as me, on this cold Boulder night,

But we did not find it right away.

Poems are slippery things, unwilling to settle into black and white type,

They don't always want to be written, and we had been reading a story in French,

The wrong language was bouncing in our minds that chilly evening,

And the plot of the story was silly, we agreed on that.

I'm looking for a poem tonight and it's getting late, the baby is sleeping 

And the stars are gazing down at me, waiting for illumination.

I turned to them, reminding them that starlight is their job,

The dog is no help either, her grizzled snout quietly rocking as she snores.

There is no poem tonight for celebration, not even one that rhymes with 

Happiness.

It appears from nowhere.