Retribution

More than a lost night, heavy as old cloth, blind as an unchanged wind, rather a space where all the stars are lower than down, the moon drifts through arcs of frost. The high masts along the road are crowned with sodium light, a camp like the edge of a prison, a string of cruel pearls. This is how I suffer from that which I seek, alone in the changed dark. A night-train passes, but at a distance.