Of brick tenements, catacombs
where we die from lack of light.
Mothballs, silence, tick of a clock.
Church bells toll noon
Father Jordan prays with a foot in the grave
Credo in Spiritum Sanctum.
Outside, people walk alone.
Black-feathered spatsies forage
in snow, chat-covered roads ice over.
Gray skies speak of desertion,
moon a visible shadow.
Steel mill, car lots, deserted
dairy, green-stained pond
where goldfish swam.
Mother comes to ground
in the town cemetery. Everyone leaves.
Rusty church reeks of incense while
we skate with ghosts at the rink.
Streets wait for summer under
a grimy blanket of snow, wearing
red brick houses like a heart.
Entropy rules, windows
turn a blind eye.