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, endlessly/ 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 exhausted.
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.