Hermetic November

[QDeathstar]

It's the season of walls, firm
as universal laws, with the perforationi like the sounds of walls and laws, why firm, the season of walls? But open doors?
of doors opening briefly like portals.

It's the season of windows—a candle
in the windowsill signals
that something sentient still lives inside. nice picture, like the setup for what follows

Headlights, strange and sharp in the dark,
bore into the hulk of morning,
battling through its murky black. the headlights seem a little overly personified, battled is a bit strong, i think, and you've set up such an interesting universe; stars/comets don't battle; people do.

There's curtain-cloaked lamplight glowing
through windows and frosty cars in driveways,
but people are planets of distant stars:

probabilities—inferences
from the way the light bends around them,
how it warps and curves.these two stanzas are the heart of the poem and i like what you've done here.

It's reasonable to deduce
that the movement of cars cannot be random,
that the lamplight returns bearing promise and purpose. im with you until this line... if we are inferring people from changes in light the lamplight would be a sun....

novel idea, but i think it needs to be tightened up. The last stanza almost seems like you are making an argument for a God, but the last line doesn't really work in that context.