vicious blooming nebulæ
attest to factions of their space,
which, feeling Her, would captivate;
linear in disarray.
and there are many crests of salt
for every tide that breathed a wave,
for every weeper’s hour weeping spent;
for every cleft in sea a vein of rime,
as sleepers sombre mantle frame
with dreams of crusting earth defined
by palaces, their princes bent.
but in this light, their backs erect, She commands
a most consid’rable effect,
that masonry would dance
around the many rings of salt
turned sweet in weeper’s hands.