Horizon shaken to ashes,
the prim bride chanting
above the congregation.
Her vowels and consonants
pleading the obsolescence of charity,
seamarks of receding value.
If the statues are moved
to weeping, none will know.
Asleep in the epilepsy
of gay lanterns
nouns perform their rare functions
of love and loss.
A hawk, a tree,
a tiny golden anvil.
Weak sun turns away
from snow’s fait accompli.