Nighttime in the World of Men (Revised)

Poets & Saints, Swallows & Trains

Nighttime in the World of Men

this is not the season of prayers;
that will come later
after the sworn oaths
the broken vows
the empty shells.

no one cares about the
signs anymore

tea leaves
tarot cards or
the NY Times

nothing revealed
changes the depth of
our ignorance

in the days of
the dimming sun
the poets are holy as
the hallowed saints

both seek
consolation in
the terrible truth

the whispered words
just hope with wings
fly to places
neither see.

the chapels still stand
testifying to
that which we
can never
understand-


sky eyes and
nervous fingers
wrapped around
the things we choose
to squeeze.

the utterances of
the damned are
drowned out now
by the silence of
the birds

the swallows and
the trains have left
and are never
coming back.

                                                                                      -K.L. Stover
                                                                                                   July 2010