And it came to pass after this that the chariots broke the hours

into horses broke them to the rein bit the hackamore the whip

it was already and still is as if nothing had ever happened and

the chariots were made of gold of air of geese barking across

the speckled sky the crows looking up order in their dictionary

of branch and cloud and answers keep not happening for any

of us beside the river they closed the road so now we walk

and the river moves and moves on and does not and the cool

drumskin sky turns gray then grayer still and then the thunder








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