Inside the sun
while afraid of serrated edges;
he shouts at his gun,
and he speaks of wedges
to **** the kicking-bird.
Yet the sound was unheard,
Therefore ineffective was a discouraging word.

Nearby three lovers undead
for them three tears left unshed,
as the misery of apathy is laughing in bed.
The flowers must push up themselves
his time round,
but if you would dare to compare,
Ye might sleep in a flower-bed underground.
Still these crippled are crumpled
and the crackle of wheat
is a sound oft untested
beneath peasant feet.

So Apollo’s beginning has met the Apollo’s end.
And while science sends defiance
it has found us a friend,
who eats not the lilly-flower
when blood is in flight,
nor covers you sun-beings
when the time is not night.
For in each egg there is a dream that is dying,
and in all minds a clear-seeing
first birthed by the light.
So caress the face of that faceless that's crying,
so it will hold you
while being held fast
in the night.