Sparkle of a sunny hairspray
On a dried body
Like a bowl of sugar
Warm white strands
Over vacent eyes
Once so beautiful
Now so utterly silent,
Like the end of great music
In a finger of white moonlight.

And by the canal
That runs past our home
Shriveled and decayed:
A dust-storm gathers.
Again it will rain red fire,
Again the carpet of sand will flicker
On the edge of boiling water;
And all the kettles will pop dry
Expload their sinews onto the clouds
Dawn had been waiting for
To spit out the remains
Of the dawn it suceeded.