i search;

what falls, the cold sweeps
over and renders inert.

crude glass stretched over
uneven portions of sidewalk
reflects the monoliths which
slumber and align themselves
down the street,


i, too, align myself
in deep disquiet

between the cragged mouths
of the dark wooden branches
that shatter the sky,
i make out the pointillism
of the blueprints for our world

like small spheres of ash
settling on canvas,
giving their final light


There's a sense of clarity and straightforwardness in this. It's still grave and has some distance, though. The third stanza is where I feel a tension between the directness and the distance, mostly with "monoliths" which is somehow specific and vague at once.