An incarnadine burst,
Amorphous on the horizon,
Recedes into a frozen blue sky.
The colour resides as lungs of aurora;
And they contract
Delicately like frail leaves
Tumbling over autumnal frost.
A frigid breath sweeps slowly
Through the waking streets,
Like the ghosts that haunt them
After the Sun is slain and lies
In a bloody display
Atop barren stone.
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