Shattered ice on water, redwoods drinking carbon

and fog. They were never yours. The evenings

were never yours. The river’s opal stones.

Rain thrown against the current as cities rose

into the red dark. Their arches and grids belong

to no one. But the faces denied entrance are yours,

the weak ones are yours, lamentations and anthems

streaking through your veins, dark with sleet and thaw.

Every effort, every desire that began in you

must change course, the snowflakes blowing for hours,

gray but still burning.

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