From View

Far above the world lies a fortress in steam
Angels on heat travel between dimensions unseen
Far from above there lies a lake of snow
The dead are stored there awaiting the global warming
to unfold

peer over the edge and stop threatening war
there is hell down there
enough for the each of us
perpetual death at the hands of demons
it does not end on the end of a spear
or with an arrow piercing your chest
it does not end yet you hear
all the stories of the past
all the tales of the best

it does not end yet
in those final seconds you hear
your own voice reciting the
that last thought was
what would happen if you did not reach the end
thinking it you folded up the napkin and
left the table unfed

we have not been hearing from you since
we are still careful what letters we say
out loud for fear of washing water
in the shallow parts of that river

in the leafy remains of your mind
the parts you call art
remembered as treasure
in that you remain dear
and deserve our mark
of confidence before
our own end we value
your remarkable memory

Just before all this
the very old man at the door
shook his head, that’s her
he thought and escaped into
the morning light

the dog sat on the pile of
furniture discarded under
the old street light
late the night before

goodnight he said
and switched off the lamp

the sky
the sky
the sky

it is black and the darkest night

it falls and it finds down
the leaf spinning about an unexpected axis
that leaf lands gently
the observation prevents
the savage building of treatments
in this quadrant of the white ghetto

the fast parts of the weak
heavy dark the clouded vision
of fished waters the lost dance
between cities all Europe laments
the passing of artists and
America recovers economically

all this happened after you left