At A Standstill

The hour past the gate of evening idles.
A site cast in dank, indigo tenor.
Vague odds predict shattered glass at a
standstill.

Transfixed by the tacit residue I crawl
underneath the ramshackle refuge of my history,
a site cast in dank, indigo tenor.

What guards recoil at this mute augury?
Now through a marsh a spirit discerns me as stray,
underneath the ramshackle refuge of my history.

It vexes my sole escape, it's final prey
lulled by the crush of it's ashen rant;
now through a marsh a spirit discerns me as stray.

The inclined moon is stiffled at a slant.
He mends the tear at the animate rim;
lulled by the crush of it's ashen rant.

He ropes my gauzy soul in.
The hour past the gate of evening idles.
He mends the tear at the animate rim.
Vague odds predict shattered glass at a
standstill.