In the dark – January 2024

Pinned to dusk and strung like wire
Tower the branches' fractal spires

A brass bell drones with windy pull
Dull reverberations chill the air
Birdlings dream and spiders' drool
Seeps into webs of waxen stare

Never a crack nor rust nor grime
Hours to ages pierce without remark
The lonesome architect’s got time
To manufacture beauty in the dark

These streaks will soon be printed on the dawn
Where fractal spires linger on and on.