Adventus
Glass rivers, steel rain; petal and twig severed
from their stems; dry clouds, damp winds, the city
against the town, the field losing its herd
of cattle. Wolves on wolves. Flocks of pretty
sheep no longer look like flocks. The haughty
mock the meek, the meek accept the pittance
of their feet, the body in need. Their glance,
from crag to hill, now falls on a lit hovel.
So small the flame that sets on fire the land—
and yet the dying has begun to unravel.