NOCTURNE

clasped is cool and currents
The cup

of sweet steam, the stars
are She, arched;

drunken among the dead
Will fill darkness dropping

fragrant for fingers
that mad cup again

has sunken Down in
Her strangely wet lips;

the monotonous moonlight
in her Most molten body

tasted it through Her
The trees They thirst !

he rests under her
Weaving Through the ages;

Listen to still layers
like bolts out of rock:

………

All
one in
the glisten,

idolatrous