snowless freeze
and late November sunlight
the rusty workmanship
of ordinary time
“the fences of the light”
brown leaves gray trees
the industry of man
in metallic suburbs
abandoned shells of trucks
beside the endless railroad
no sunlight colder than yesterday’s
*
the monarchy of yesteryear
has fallen like a city
the landscape writes a song of desolation
its entertainments are the cloak of grief
its prayers are phrased to distant vacancy
the earth grows adamant and passionless
beneath the tiny grandeur of the stars
can darkness comprehend
beatitude
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