Frost lays upon the dead, the road is sleeked with winter sweat.
The hours are atoning, the air stinks of cold,
an angry dog is howling.
I see them graves out my window, ghosts in the shape of cut stones.
The candle flame presses
upon my neck, my collar bones wrapped in shadows;
I am alone.
Alone with the night. Alone with the bite
of icy quietness, thorny chill.
The cityscape proclaims no life shall be with the darkness,
no tree shall rustle, no car linger, no footstep last longer
than a drop of snow. The cityscape
is in harmony tonight
with the stillness, the emptiness, the flow of sorrows.
waits outside, raises his hand,
and covers the right eye of the moon.
If light ever again descends, with its noise and wonder and material desires,
it will be too soon.
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