Where the parachute sky
Stands bursting with a wave
Of porcelain faith.
But -- a concrete night
In gray folds of a slow sigh,
See it in red letters?
The only thing that breathes is me.
There is no reward.
They scream, "roll away the stone,"
"throw your wrench into scaffolding skies."
What station is the static on?
Featured in Gregory Orr's book "A Primer for Poets and Readers of Poetry"