Snake back to - other things - and nightly swallows
Flip and play and, in dusk, the losing fire
Lights landscapes in the west that soon retire.
Obedience is soft in female quails.
They move the executioner's axe layers
Past the daunting dawn on and on again.
What stupid hoops are fit round every lens.
Take rot and leave it there then smell again
Its fervor on another day aligned
To this in futures small and lately climbed
That dwindle as ascending they become
The softest mezzanine of dirts, the softest scents.
And softly yet the past will now descend.
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