We could walk to the church this evening

Or picture us there from the window

Gold rays through coloured panes

Lost gravestones claimed by hands of ivy

When we walked to that church

In the last hours of light

With the knell of tomorrow sounding

Truth stained by the prospect of cataclysm

Arriving to find our dreams in ruins

Transfigured into crawling forms

We could have walked to the church this evening

But instead I search the skyline

For that one rogue pinnacle

Rising through the jagged canopy

Then sinking back into the dusk