Last night, the sky
had a renaissance
and now thinks it's
an acrobat

And poor, dear I
alone on cement
knew nothing more poignant
than that-

We whisper to mend
the holes in ours hats
as we walk in the quiet
parchment rain

The sins of the day create
butterfly masks
which we see unfit to

Copper valleys erupt
in the glare of the gash
affecting the quality
gossamer light

What more could we ask,
tell tale blood on our lips
than to escape this Christening
spite, oh

We ran to the door
of an elder neighbor
and asked if we might
take a room

She spat at out feet and
proceeded to scream,
to the bitter lies welcolm
a tomb

We wept till the marrow
was nought but clean sand
filling the glass
of our bones

We knew that the candles
each carried with him
could not purchase salvation,
or loan

Where were we to go
the light against us,
no harper among us
to slake

The wrath of an age
sealed with Lucifer's breath
what diplomatic steps
could we take?