57

As the sun impends, a glowering foment,

I anticipate these seasons with the cardinal dour:

I quintuply seize, I am septuply content

in the wait for these wanderers, their invisible power

that wrecks as it sows, that laughs in resonance

with the fabric underlying, the unyielding firmament.

Our untitled plans set cast into injected roles:

may they falter or fasten to these universal codes

be this subject of mine, in our deceptive era

that I will soon shatter, to wreck and enlighten.