Senex morosus
God in cherry branches, then nothing,
No worshipful project, storm coming.
Omissions, solitude,
inverted commas in his tea,
truant mutations in twilight.
No alter tenses for aging—
Sullen and slight, brushing crumbs
from a table…Garden stones
Buried in snow.
Prokofiev, low on radio…
Planet of the Blind 