Each night the pale procession of angels illegible in ascent, each morning the town's confrontation with vanishing.
Preservation destroys it.
Chemical rinse on the rock paintings ate from each zebra the delicate spindle of legs. The sustained can't hold us. The winter the snow wouldn't stop falling the world was reduced to repetition until spring thaw muted it to ice cold warming lakes. Wild sheep drank there. All this marble determination to house drawers of ash, a room encrypted with light.