The darkness came, inevitable,
with four walls and foreign voice,
chained to the table and floor,
forgetting the sun’s old face.
Torn from the howl of tenement hall
and streets rumbling black and red,
dragged into the emptiness of
pockets stuffed with tired hands.
In cold morning the flight leaves,
half-empty and sparsely kept.
Tears will freeze to the ground
after last goodbyes, with no return.