A cold and starry darkness moans
And settles wide and still
Over a jumble of tumbled stones
Dark on a darker hill.
An owl among those shadowy walls,
Gray against the gray
Of ruins and brittle weeds, calls
And soundless swoops away.
Rustling over scattered stones
Dancers hover and sway,
Drifting among their own bones
Like webs of the Milky Way.
-Harry Behn
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