In silent reverence,

we ascended

the full three stories

of acutely gabled façade.

We reclined westward at the summit,

and waited,

prying segments of the supple asphalt shingles beneath us,

chaining cigarettes,

throbbing,

not for the appearance of day,

but, rather, the evanescence of night.

The first moment of dawn is speculative against the city lights.

Though we,

raven pupils of prophets, shamans, and infidels alike,

spied the inaugural tinges of day

in lurid tracers, geometric hieroglyphics, and

imprints of antidepressants scrawled across blotter paper sky.

Then, the slow atrophy of silhouettes, sanctuary, reverence…