Nothing sings in this white- hot furnace. Words fly up like ash. What icons to honor, what votives to keep. A briefcase snaps like a reptile. A doorlock booms like a drum.
Engines hum amid static.
Let them be shamed, let them be routed. The sunlight burns through the distance a lustrous void. We are delivered by wonders. On the last vantage, where a car has parked, a driver is sipping the day's first bitterness. The ignition key turns like a knife and burns.