UPON THE EVE OF THE THURSDAY OF DECEMBER:

The Steels, I want to tell you everything, sheltering from
a storm of constant lips. You re-arange a bag to rest your
head & sleep. Park it, cover it, tie it up & float it, chain it
to a fence, wrap it in stripy plastic tape & start afresh.
A light, a glow, a giant comes lumbering over the horizon,
low & cold, casting thin shadows as you sleep between the rails.

(K)