The City

The dead, skeletal city, simmering in a flood of morning light

We are heavier than we remember in our dreams

Smoke of the blast furnaces is pierced by frozen rain

Our astonished eyes wet, borne like dew on blades of grass

Magnolia flowers are tumbling down through the trees

The frenzied wildfires have gone out one by one in the night

Spring snow now falls through the badly closed skylight

The light we will never use, like the first days of childhood

Casting a shadow over the most bitter of wires

As the horizon grows love again find's it's chains

Spitting sparks on the vestments of dawn

The white eye ensconced in tall curtains of bone

A past torn by irreverent hands