The Alps At Night

the ribs of falling night cold flints of a dark path a dark curtain creating two rooms nameless stumps of teeth melted to the white rock jaw heavy as the light is frail the way a black swan`s neck tubular and serrated; the pines guard the frost the tree line has swallowed the sun a dead story under the forest floor pushes me along all light has fled the sky, apart from the points of dropping stars, and the distant road into the far.