In the apse of oaks
stained glassless
by evenings indigo
the shadows of bats
flash cinematic,
while along the river bend in Bethlehem
the universe of crows
peels off the elms
like all of the angels ashes.
But at half past twilight
this ocean,
full of its furies,
roars into the ears of this house,
it's cathedrals
ring into harbor's mouth
like a coronation day
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