This is about

by W.E.R. La Farge (1975)

the quiet walk of souls
the long, sad, steady march
flickering beneath headlamps
barely seen under the iron wheels
the endless migration
from the dark to the dark
in the blinding waltz of Catherine wheels

the patience countenance
the flat gaze of the eye
to the eye
the look of old people
held steady within
at the point where an empty coffin
or long silent volcano
blooms a thin stalk of smoke
upward past blue-black welts
to a dome of orange nights

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