The Gathering Of Dead Wood

The gathering of dead wood - driven,
pinched in faces between
the strain of Van Gogh's setting -
had all the more realism
hastening down that leaden street.
Churning sockets, burdened with the duress of suffering,
the street in vigorous winter
raced like a bootblack
up from the river. Hedged by
black stems called trees, rows
of withered houses and dim bread shops
propositioned rough headlights
along a promenade of ice stalks
and careening streetlamps.
Fast in the cold,
faces were juggernauts
skating treacherously
over the pond of that closed city.