the kings of sorrow

1 November 2012

the drizzle strips
the palette bare,

as blank & as fragile
as methuselah’s hair.

the kings of sorrow
face down the waves

& stare, their weary
eyes relinquish care;

like gods invoked
in the white-lead

glare of a guiltless
sun on contrite air.

all history drowned out
by the cackle of seasons.

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