Revery

And when at last the least light sings its sleep
and mutes itself against the whirling deep
where stars fold up in friezes from the dark
like paper spirits brought before the spark
of God’s insistent, incandescent dreams,
the upstart sand’s recalcitrance still gleams.
These cavities of malice crease the cold
awaiting brazen instruments that hold
our cracked and trickling fingers to the chords
and conjure dreams of elemental hordes
we no more know by sleep than self by day.
This latest blazon speaks decay, decay,
to shake fresh garlands from the crimson dust
and cake this vapid oracular lust
in dewfall, moonspun, agate, anger, light,
and make a sacred argument of night.

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