The tenement building abides an age,
Bulking and fasting beyond any grasp
Of those who behold it: a lowly page
To the barons downtown that make one gasp
In awe. Empty. No fastened doors or hasp
Keep anyone out as if this last stage
Of barrenness is but a choice. A rasp
Of charcoal, serrate clouds rush past in rage.
Then of a sudden, sunset light, a rose,
Breaks through the sharp edged clouds. It burns, it fills
The void of glass and steel with light and flame.
Its Lenten fast is now brought to a close
As the kingly sun makes it his home, stills
The clouds, and gives the emptiness a name. |
Submission Name: The Fast
