what death is this tha' comes so gay?
where cloven cut
by hill cleft
and tree split                               splay

the rouge and copper splendor
o' hulking an' bended                   day.

to crisp in shafts of molted light
a dying which eclipses sight;

and pushes press to pollen build
where night is crept and flower filled.

such dark is bright and wants for sleep,
and calls my mouth to want to keep
all noise of lip in coiled flower
and root my soul in soils deep.