Frost rests upon the sills
with fire lit skies providing visible noise.
Floorboard streets creak
with the heaped lost handles
of the midnight cement men.
Only silent moral support carries
the burden of their 10 ‘til 10.
Doorway arch and the ice that hangs loose,
marry each other in
a ceremony of contrast,
forced together like noose
and a neck.


Noose and neck break
bonds of trust, and out
of the fractures that appear,
make coppice bone branches
of words: the all clear, the end
the funeral march pier.