This time, above others, is Apollo’s: Ancient Night has stretched long, like the North winter stretches long. There is a blur of purple at the black horizon. In moments it is spread to a violet efflorescence in the Sky, but It has not yet rested upon the tree-tops. The dew still buds, unmelted. The road is swallowed in the dark. The crows are awake, and shouting. In Your Honor. Todd Jackson
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