Sanctuary between the lines

This grey mighty  shifting wake of a November mourning
moving as the windbreaks surf
amongst the most guarded tree
curled packs of spectres
breast against the weakened portal
salt-free the river's tears

seen within the corners sanctuary
shadow shapes the broken man
entrenched by days shaking the hand
his unfurled torn flag
no bereft lonely in its desertion

Cold embers whose lost heat
bled away into savage news
each word occupying a pleasant  knotless church pew
long seated in history
gravel crushing in each crunching carried step

Storys paged in online futures
lay at nights quiet visit
in grey marble uniforms
with dotted die ing colours
Dogs dig at long-forgotten bones

And me
I return to that corner
where shadows gather to reshape
this pile that rots