Inopportune insect stray dragonfly
All directions of the space it kindles
In evening's chapel where sail forth the disarmed ships
Where do float the baskets of lost balloons
In dry air of science
All of the books stacked tiered towards glory
Navigations between these dead eyes these lifeless eyes
Joy has fled to the horizon which is sleeping
The suburbs are too far for clarity of day
The windows all desert this lamentable space
The hungry trundle in darkness
The grass marred with mutton marks of pasture
Nature alas alas this has not been finished
And always recommenced
This little old tune which for eight years I confined to a brown notebook
There was a poem about the cat
Another on Chateau-Gaillard
And tables of sinus hypothetic
It is the illumination which marred
And not the dust so gritty
The strange peregrinations I never forgive my speed
The minutes of this day
Are as lengthy as the years of my childhood
The stairway shudders so
Fearful thoughtful trembling acts
To leave upon paper's margin
The instant of its pain
Ephemeral turning of cycles
A painting made of segments
From top to bottom desperate
From bottom to top it's the song
Planisphere with punched poles
Of foaming boiled oceans
Of disaffected cities
And of volcanoes which fume
But on the astrakhan where snow glitters
Of the cold sedated hands
It is for always for never
It is for now
