After Trakl
When weather gives permission to forget
When the outline of the field reels like a flame and folds in
When the mountains rust into a past-tense sky;
horizon dim as memory
When October gloam corrals in an alley and I sift it for a phrase
to contain night, to cloak the mind quiet
When voices overwhelm the dark overwhelming the room
When all I’ll know of summer, soon, is a tone gone hollow
—a sun too small to see
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"past-tense sky..." Damn!