DECEMBER 2

Rusting at rest, embraced
dewily by supplicant grass,
its grey lambency
coddled close, warmly
and stern with hesitation
belying permanence with defiant
coldness.

Manifest westward,
engineered lyre without end
clanging out songs to stones
bereaved on steely picked
tresses:

Song of passing, song
of timetables, source
giving forth in anger
a wind its own afflicting
deferents
awash upon the platform
possessing impatient certainty
of purpose, giving themselves
into the bosom of Eos.