Poem 75: The Short Day

seen on this one day
of the short day
the first frost
of savage men
a laying on my hands
and laughing
at the near night
of demon eyed willows
dancing on pyres
of secluded dreams
echoed and gone,
echoed and gone
fleeing before
the black almond
crossed men
marching and a marking
the abatement clause
as they pursue
the noble animal
from your eyes
across marshes
of dull driven slate
under skies
of stone filled rain
that settles
the smoking
youth time ash
into stilted puddles,
now too deep
with the dust
of all the days
and weeping cold,
weeping cold
to be seen
so deeply shallow
on this one day
of the short day.