A betokened rain, threading unmarked

pavement.

Nominal witnesses, in fine silver.

Memory before fog, fog before memory.

Lighthouse headlights pulling a turn

over.

A nest of ravens on a tilting landline.

Fog before memory...the composite

sketch of purple.

Graduations of solitude, unnerved by

the continuous wait.

Gigantic chests pounding away.

Caws of mockery, fed with the chills of

a presence in one's home.

Knock.

No answer.

Knock, no answer.

Knock.

The lot of ye tilt landlines.