-to S. The light lay in shreds across the bed, only your waking could make it whole; resuming its costume of day, its role which seems to overnight get ragged-- Fate latent as weights in theater curtainhems, what soul is sewn here to be rung down at last, divested of these disguises. But if we are bared by such cloth as cries in this lament for the sun's fragility, would I dare now to shake you astir-- to drape over you my shadow, whose myth-ex-machina remains all mine, mine, and therefore torn from yours.
Added: 20 Feb 2002 | Last Read: 24 Mar 2017 6:13 AM | Viewed: 8823 times
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