Sphere The Noble Brute, & Sphere The Golden Day Foaming Deathless

[jeff harrison]

sun-gilded, 
air grows all! 


how, 

       how could 
I thin this out 
when beneath 
lamenting tears consider'd 
as lava-smooth rhythms 
is your evening'd severity, 


where your eyelashes are but 
a verse shade of "shall life...", 
a fair dust with 
"spell is pleasure", 
like we're night, 
and cold, and 
sleep better, lyre,-- 


then it's wake & O sway all,-- 
then it's, it's, -- 
Sing "they moss you," My Words! 


arises the oh-quick dove -- 
Virginia -- that thralls ye, 
sun-like tho unprofitable 
Herr Bibliothekarius, Herr 
None Other Than The NO 
Of Breath In Hushing Blots, 


ye and me and she 
are three, and three 
lutes bloom and soon 
Wormswork follows 
with but light distrust 


William Wormswork, 
follow still, nod, and 
late perseverance 
gets at these 
sleepy refrains, 
aye, the happier away, 
settle these praises, 
your coldest half 
shall hath only 
Herr Reddened The Sun, 
wither the name! 


		
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