My soul rises towards your forehead, o calm sister,

Where an autumn dreams, speckled with freckles

And towards the wandering sky of your angelic eye

As in a melancholy garden,

Faithfully a white fountain sighs towards the Blue--

Towards the fond Blue of pale and pure October

That reflects its infinite languor in the big basins

And, on the dead water where the tawny agony

Of leaves wandering in the wind and digging a cold furrow

Lets the yellow sun drag itself into a long beam

05/02/2008