By then citizens had begun to infiltrate
The place formerly known as Heaven
Huddling during the day around the vast fires
Which replaced the decommissioned sun.
The moon, still ruling the night, had grown fretful
Granting prayers either at random or with
A new-found sense of irony.
God was often seen
Leaning against a wall, say, whittling, or
Drinking endless amounts of coffee from
A never-failing styrofoam cup. He seemed
To have no fixed address; some said
He spent sleepless nights by the River Sambatyon
Making those small infinities which, properly wound,
Run in a sort of quick stumble but never quite fall.
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