The sun that puts its spokes in every
Wheel of manhandle and tree

Derives its path of seashines
(Sheer centrifugality) from my

Regards. I send it
My regards. Some yards

Of lumen from the fabrika
Have come unbolted from the look

Of it (or likes of me), a long
Unweaving or recarding I

Cannot recall begun, and there
Before my eyes a palm

Puts lashes round the sun.