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.
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