death poetry

she burst fierce wine
city that is not a city
those black eyes i once so praised
the darkness steals the forms of all the queens
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
glass-blower of time
out of the window a sea of green trees
doubtless i remember still
just as my fingers on these keys
all quiet along the potomac
to clothe the fiery thought
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night