POEMS FOR NOONE  

LAST DARK MONTH



The last dark month with its scintillating light 
rises against the slate-sky full of itself.
A cat skitters forward and back without confidence; 

Odd machines go crazy as sour days greet one on waking.
What we have built stands on the shelf restless and angry. 

All those useless, restless, angry words 
spouting from the brain that made them!

The fire of youth collapses in a heap
and burns the poets favorite toys. 

Ah memory,
savior of those who see a slump of black ash
where vital cities once were.

The heavy jugs of time, streaked with failure, 
dance plaintively on the shoulders of an old man.

Night comes to the last dark month - 
we are carried on the beaks of vultures/


                                                      far into the shadow of the Sun.