The Autumn Daylight Sky

Pure of any mortal mote
and boundless
                (but for sight)
The deep dry sky of Autumn
inscribes the shadows
For what could dusty leaves conceal
        from such an endless eye?
What crackled branch could hide the earth
        from all-consuming sky?
Replete with light, devoid of warmth:
        a strong and wayward king.
His tirade… tires, bruised to black
        and homeless winds start prowling
And then the people mourn his sleep
and wait as candles
Blankets huddle shoulders
as they pray the king
                to wake
and waking, chasing night he comes
        to light the shaded places.
Stones will drink his meagre heat
        and men will lift their faces

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