Fires in the Yards

No slipping branches

tear the light from this window.

Or was it wasting sun

that painted empty houses yellow.

Or was it electronics that let

the sound stop shrinking.

Nothing at all can help

or take the place of

brandy yellow howling.

Of the moon's yellow howling –

Of the fires in the yards –

Of the moon's gentle rounding –

Of the fires in the yards.

There are the lines and lies that light

the artificial light: the artificial tears for sale.

There is the place beyond the lines

into deepest yellow ocean.

Of the moon's yellow howling –

Of the fires in the yards –

Of the moon's gentle rounding –

Of the fires in the yards.

There are the aisles: there are the power-lines,

There are the fine trails of white in the sky.

And behind it is the yellow howling,

and behind it is the fires in the yards.

Yards concrete, rapid, wildlife by side of road, darkness