The September Sonnets: XIV

headlong came the wind over the zenith
of the stars and images made in the sky
and above our heads—only our eyes can synth-
isize the turmoil going on inside
the malnutrition of almighty God around
our pupils and our backs against the shing-
les of this worn-out roof; what comes
from tonight is a sight we can bring
into the future and into our homes
where a blurry photograph takes it all
and forms it into something we can relate
to, an image made up of words short and tall—
all one thousand of them floating in space.

the state of inflection as we look up
and dream and drink from a soiled cup.

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