Work Text:
The city does not exist
except where one shriveled tree swivels
like a searchlight about the hazy sky.
The city is silent. The night boils with dead dreams.
Oh star-crossed star-crossed night! This is how
I want to die.
It moves. They are all alive.
Even hell itself bulges in its playhouse
to push husks, like a god, into battle.
The old saint king swallows up the streets.
Oh star-crossed star-crossed night! This is how
I want to die:
into that tragic beast of the night,
sucked up by that great lighthouse, to split
from my life with no fight,
no stain,
no cry.