Exhaustion trips (as the old king claimed),
Sit treasons beneath tongues – the candles crack
At the base
Why take imperfection as a cue?
Don’t you want to rule in here? A second look
At the man with the hood,
And it was clear, the circle shuddered,
To watch it fall; an unneccesary action
At the thrip-crack, a view
Shivered into springtime. New air,
Under a dutiful sun, which cogged itself
Around, around again.
The congregation watched time,
As if it were a crown, as if
They always had
Hours after the ceasing,
A void in the crowd.
The void stretched outward,
Formed itself a shape.
The shape looked something like
Brick dust. Almost exactly
From this, tired men build palaces.