Umbrellas and crows fill the grey.nPock marked procession thru the sleet as the howl of a lonely bell misbehavesnIn the drunken silence.nPolished black shoes singing on gravel.nAlbino leaves sweep thru the air falling in half time so as not to interrupt the silent shuffle.nBlack coats and bandages fall out of an eviscerated sky.nProcessions of emptiness run for the turning of the tide.nTo sail in their coffin ships where all good things must die.nUnderneath a bitter sun hanging in a wounded sky.