The absolute reign of night lasts forever
And throbs from wet drums within lengthen its royal reign.

Constellations stud the lashes with midnight views;
Salutations from the owls’ wing-flaps welcome the
Sponge web of the womb of this hour
And the sable-garmented, freezing, old, festered
December day lives on.

Arrangements of coloured words without voice begins.
Prompted by visions of midmornings coming
In the wake of blurred moon rays,
Thoughts are patented.