The gods gather in the gloaming
show the conductor their tickets
as they board the train.
The bulging skin beside their eyes
holds all the tears they never wept
at all the broken bindings.
The green forest blues as yellow-gold
takes itself from this world
without a glance over its shoulder.
So place a dime over the pinhole
of the sun’s light that reaches earth
and let the dark settle down.
Time tires of progress, of motion,
of its divine doggedness
and sense of faded purpose.
Alarms, long ago, lost their desire
to ring bells. The last bride
savors her one and only kiss.