Years End

The state cracked where they left your

No longer instrument.

Along the

The sand ripped up, and the newer

Streaked like a vein to every monument.

The empty smoke that drifted near the

Where the stiff motor pounded in the

Had the smell of a hundred burned-out suns.

The ceiling of your sky went dark.

A year ago today they cracked your bones.

So rot in a closet in the

For the bad trumpets and the

Long seasonable grief.

Rot for its guests,

Alive, that step away from death.

Yet you,

A year cold, come more living to this

Than these intruders, vertical and warm.