Daylight Sources

placated days obey the hit parade. final whistles
the end attract, draw close the kids in the back wondrous
as a heart attack, the open core of travelers
traveling digitless, amazed cabling, construction scaffold world
made world, sinless but still afraid, self assembled star raided
gambler in a song they used to play, bury your assets in the sun.
they will not search their own - but mind the burning. assemble
no candles there, or fuel or houses, books or minds.
bury only ghosts, pocketed souls, animal voices of the murmuring kind.
These, or the winter passengers by whom no fire may be set:
The spiced children that die - the sugar children - the lyme
and snow children, only of the sightless kind, dark as that fluid
which first you breathed, suckled from daylight sources