)))))))))))))

light snapping on and off
in the the empty capitals
the dancing of human numerals
is grounded in salt
and the huge season turns over

we wither into it like squatters with reptile skin
move trains aside with gusts of breath and then
become abruptly powerless

during the birthdays of saints
and the activities of captured horses
time goes through at exactly the same pace
very few notice anything at all

we go in our cloth coats
under and over bridges
cursing the songs in the air
and knocking them down