Immovable (January)

The ice we made from fossil burn, whole continents frozen, unable to move. Palladian masterpieces hide under snow. Streetlights are lonely at midday. Our skulls, immovable quantities, contain enough memory to understand. The heat we made from fossil smoke lasts one January to the next, the next. Our sophisticate cars line the bitumen fields. Their skull sleekness includes movable windows; blinkers make them look alive. Five generations of jets patterned heaven with change. They moved quicker than anyone imagined, their rust preserved under bone-hard ice. Great Moon and Stars make their Galileo moves, as sublunar us jesting, adjust, adjust, just.