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.
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