Bury what's retrieved, mythical people's provinces. Emotional of inhabitants, a shrouded rain weeps. No perspective is here. I go where grey currents wing to sigh-swept trains. My street ends slowly, with unclasped fear in the morning and young ones appalling. Days on many banks, imagined damp but lost and bland, all experience tending to shatters. Heaven admits chaos, the remembered choir lost, shipwrecked. In isolation, black-gowned ladies turn to new worlds and end this eloquent feeling of alarm. The moorings of accompaniment, the soaring organs, look aloft to suffered moons. You were away; the acoustic wind subsides with all I was and did, ever could be. Desolate kings thought guilt ordinary in disguise. The dark coronation unattended, highest gloom blinked in redolent sepia. Impressed but false – who, when mist arisen, challenges these hours?