There's a house
on the fractured
horizon.
A light is on
in the night,
one light.
Much is perfect,
even the chair,
I told them.
I will prove it,
when we get there,
I told them.
(All memories are manufactured.)
They needed to know.
Louring clouds: slate, snow,
char, crow,
gray mustard, dark
December.
Escape the brazen
bronze bazar. Enter
reedy hut, lower
the drape.