candlelight dances on the old silver pendulum clock.
lightning rips dark lilac clouds
like headlines rip the front page
of the dusty newspaper from brighter times.
the pendulum lights and shadows printed names
in bold and black, and a photograph of smiles,
eleven- twelve- thirteen times-
’til thunder cracks through counting wind
like the cold, brass lock and key
that locked away those brighter times.
T. E. Pyrus