Dimmer, dimmer it becomes;
the steam and smoke turning
ashy and uninspired,
hanging heavier in the air,
vapor weighed down and soggy.
Up, up above it seems
that a clumsy angel
pricked the balloon of the universe
with a supernatural pin -
poked a leak in dome of the earth -
and then watched as it slowly deflated.
Here, here inside the darkening windows,
even the usual winks and glimmers seem dim,
and if it were up to us,
we would head out and away, even through the rain,
not alone except with our thoughts
and the irrational motion of the season.
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