Didactic as the sun
Spells dogma to the moon,
Late leaves turn images to self
Of rainbow-mirrored tunes
Whose gutter is the moon’s
Dry, disbelieving shelf.
Take her down, prepare her for
The miracle of sky’s career
Where she finds her policy is safe,
Not as the blaze itself might be,
But shadowing the entity
Of sun-miled strafe.
As Autumn’s fastened bone to hair
Trades memory for air Leaving residuum,
The landscape reads last year
Striving to be here,
But the time is dumb.
Turn to it, as moon to sun
Praises the lusty paragon
Fire unfathomed none can hope to burn,
And make the present cauterize
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