With the Fire of the Altar

A city with no factories smolders in the afternoon,

Above it, a dome of exhaust rises without a train

People cough by windows, no cigarette in hand

The buildings are cloudy but there is no rain

Nearby tree branches hang fuzzy and free of moss

While bodies in the distance vanish without a stain

The sun is turning red without a drop of blood,

An apocalypse is getting ready to play its refrain

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Ben Nardolilli is a MFA candidate at Long Island University. His work has appeared in Perigee Magazine, Door Is a Jar, The Delmarva Review, Red Fez, The Oklahoma Review, Quail Bell Magazine, and Slab. Follow his publishing journey at mirrorsponge.blogspot.com.