Empty streets I come upon by chance,
Where does this all end? What is the vanishing
In search of brighter green to come. No way!
the old men burnish stories of Yaz and the Babe
Hoarfrost is in his bones and on his head,
As if your absence now concluded long ago.
More beautiful than anything in this world.
Brush the lone giant in that somber pall.
Wheel tracks entrench themselves in snow, yet painted
Across the heavens' gray.
Writhing their stunted limbs,
More beautiful than anything in this world.
Stars, the last day, endless and centerless,