This Sleepy Recluse

Branches reach to grasp at
The cold indifferent night sky
As the cold wind blows the snow and stars
Seeming to bend the light of these
Towns below, the audacity of smoke
From each humble chimney's hearth
But the branches stretch higher
Grasp at the moon and holding it
Gently in those wooden palms
The radiance of reflection, time
Algorithms of unified reach
Infecting melodies beyond
Thoughtless paranoid indiscretions
In an anti-social galaxy:
This sleepy recluse has gone to bed.