Conquest
(Dedicated to F.W.)
Hard, chilly colors:
straw-grey, frost-grey
the grey of frozen ground:
and you, O Sun,
close above the horizon!
It is I holds you —
half against the sky
half against a black tree trunk
icily resplendent!
Lie there, blue city, mine at last —
rimming the banked blue-grey
and rise, indescribable smoky-yellow
into the overpowering white!
Hard, chilly colors:
straw-grey, frost-grey
the grey of frozen ground:
and you, O Sun,
close above the horizon!
It is I holds you —
half against the sky
half against a black tree trunk
icily resplendent!
Lie there, blue city, mine at last —
rimming the banked blue-grey
and rise, indescribable smoky-yellow
into the overpowering white!
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