This Radiant Panoply

A great and alien fanfare is folded into silences rising in their conspiratorial auroras and crescendos, and I'll wake with an ache of memories, a wash of flotsam against my grasping thoughts,

Rise up, make the bed amidst my bones complaints, I'll rise amongst the wreckage and ravages and try to reconcile every apology I didn't have to the courage to make, on the courses I'll walk through a din of fleeting lives, with confessions muttered at passersby,

I'll wait for a friend to come and find my poems where I left them, and ask about the progress of my stories, whose avatars will carry my secret hopes in their pockets,

There is a halo of light in a single window, rain frosts the glass over this radiant panoply, residing in a threadbare poverty of faith, I'll waste some more time,

I wake with the sun and your absence, and myself, neatly shelved together in a quiet room