Earth, then, becomes as an island in the ocean of the night; a poor, benighted place.  But even that ocean, that night sky, is damaged.  How is it bruised?  You pour your heart out to the moon and stars, nostr:npub1dsdgn279kkzrmuxxq2v686l26k8u97hjkve342zlpqcfsqk4xtpstkl2mp  - has the sky itself suffered from your "graceless dread" over time?  Do you feel it has witnessed too much?

"Graceless" has an idea of ingratitude, suggesting you know the dread is misplaced.  A dread of what?  Given the promise of escape and what you say awaits, of rejection, I suspect.

Bruised or not, in, or perhaps beyond, that sky, the waiting arms.  Something restorative, safe.  A hope for a love to be found, at last, beyond time and place, perhaps.  This strikes me as an idea that is of a highly "spiritual" nature.