Hermetic November

[Achebe]

It's the season of walls, firm
as universal laws, with the perforation
of doors opening briefly like portals .... but a portal is a door!

It's the season of windows—a candle .... "a season of etc."
in the windowsill signals
that something sentient still lives inside. ..... no "that"

Headlights, strange and sharp in the dark,
bore into the hulk of morning,
battling through its murky black. ...."murky black" is overdoing it. Just "murk" might be ok

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.

It's reasonable to deduce
that the movement of cars cannot be random,
that the lamplight returns bearing promise and purpose. .... didn't get the last two strophes. The imagery falls off and it sounds like you're trying to say something clever, but somehow it's not sounding interesting enough to think through