And so there comes

a certain showering of

sparks flaring upward

like flakes of white hot snow.

The stars in rows

gather as unbidden memories

to cast their ghoulish glow

on the back, black walls –

hidden from view,

or at least cowering

among the older stars,

clumped and unbillowing. They do not

breathe anymore, but

still cast their

meddling shadows.

Their pathetic streams of

yellow light offer

neither warmth nor sight –

just scratching on

a chalkboard of a new

night, too full to care.