trains crossing blacked out streets 
mournful howls , stark in the slick obsidian
of deadened stories, and hardened hearts
a thousand miles of ire cast in cooling: 
the warmth of bodies wistful for sleep backed 
by a hapless sliver of ivory 
mists roiling up and up like a damp collective sigh
frozen by shock
in time. 

and in time all things lose their pallor 
their color 
desaturated by a lack of light 
in the shadows that look back 
as we would be caught naked 
searching for ourselves , forever. 

we may as well have found nothing:
we may as well have been
nothing.