Hearth fires were smothered

Our indulgence are now complete, these bit players,
As I expected, we’re all breath, and
Are dispersed into ozone, into the very thin air:
And like the reasonless sense of this sight,
The mist held spires, the atrophied palaces,
The funeral temples, the fiery rock itself,
All which was salvaged, so decimate
And, like this insubstantial masquerade slips,
Aggrieved within sleep.


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