“The Coming When apple-birds have drowned themselves in milk, the old bones take it well. They gather smoke to ink the mountainsides with letters of regret. And when the moon burns through its orbit, men take cover in cramped rooms, while all the dead begin to roil within the ground. And as He comes, the night completes itself. The end arrives as if a telegram, in series, inconsolably. And if they wish to suckle the Messiah's breast, it is too late, He's dry. Look to the stars— a trumpet and a train conclude the sky.”
Book:Heaven
