Folded hands, shut
dusk folded
itself to the trains;
overhead the
curtains came to shutters,
were skylights into maps
into both hands bends the forehead,
had sorted from the
streetlight, once engulfed:
bemoaned sun through the canopy in dust; tempted
the eye to lean at the tall grass. A
speck of dust in the eye.
once in reverie, had one
thought to cross the waves to this moss-draped city,
"northward," he'd said, the bow near its
sunken grace.
in vines we have
buried the windows, climbing upwards
your statues fell beside the tracks.
In the rattle of these
distant sounds was
Icarus, bound to the rail?
They are
carving the moon into wax-
now tie the branches in crossing strings.
Mice clammered to this stone floor, the
trees razed
through the windows. One
leaf singed through the road, yesterday
cars cut through the
bottom of the sky.