Le Place des Invalides

Birds, black chisel nicks
In the white
Cathedral mask of the sky

Snow falls quicker
Born of the uncandled quarter
The land of failed prayers.

The font of this time is empty
Only ice and the blown out light
Of unfinished windows.

Across the river, towards
Le Place des Invalides
Statues have the green stain

Strain to see through
The wedding-storm confetti flakes.

We are green no more, this land and I,
At war with the winds
The roaring mouth of frost.

Birds scatter the sky
Riding the night’s guillotine fall,
Auguries of it all

This winter without end.