11-10-2013

The night,

The comet.

The
trailhead.

The young, remembered

November;

Old tasks given
by God.

His windowless rooms

Dragging
from between
out-buildings.

His patient
curve,

Giving
shorelines
to maps,

The Calumet City
and
Cline Avenue
ways out
from underneath.

The form of
Testaments
Left upon tables;

The shame of what was traced
In that dust.

The call?

Wailing

After the framing
and the doors have
swelled
beyond all entrance.