It started with a weather report,

about a foot of cloud

could fall from the sky,

but we don't hear aloud--

they don't tell you what it means

because they don't know themselves,

but I'll tell you, broken glass sheens,

it will freckle your hair like dust

and hide the moon in lavender;

from a distance, they're all the same--

look closer, it's falling wonder;

our fragile ceiling collapses in grace,

every crumb a different shape,

as we watch our home shiver,

children bundle up and gape

in hope they'll cancel school tomorrow;

the working class sighs in pain,

children oblivious to sorrow,

all too busy looking at the ground;

do they know now, the evenings are darker than midnights?

the world we created is a shadow

nothing, compared to Heaven's falling lights.