The Northern Sky Poem by Andrew Kennedy

Against the stone breakwater,
only an ominous lapping while the wind surges overhead.
Coming down from the mountain,
whistling between the arbors and the winding terraces.
A thin whine of wires,
a rattling and flapping of leaves.
And the small street lamps swinging and slamming against
the city's skyscrapers.
Crackle's riddle the storm torn canvas,
rain blind and violently blown.
The northern sky looked like the end of days,
lost even when at home