There are no labyrinths in this zone above.
This even, the bifurcated, long, empty road
Reflects the orange,
Hung high, eluding us from the grey void.

The even star —
Behold the grey patterns of heaven,
Meek and naked.
The orange, in clover, fades in the
Celluloid of the hanging sea,
And my approach, red and narrow,
Nurses a dream.