TO A SOLITARY DISCIPLE

Rather notice, mon cher,

that the moon is

tilted above

the point of the steeple

than that its color

is shell-pink.

Rather observe

that it is early morning

than that the sky

is smooth

as a turquoise.

Rather grasp

how the dark

converging lines

of the steeple

meet at the pinnacle —

perceive how

its little ornament

tries to stop them —

See how it fails!

See how the converging lines

of the hexagonal spire

escape upward —

receding, dividing!

— sepals

that guard and contain

the flower!

Observe

how motionless

the eaten moon

lies in the protecting lines.

It is true:

in the light colors

of morning

brown-stone and slate

shine orange and dark blue.

But observe

the oppressive weight

of the squat edifice!

Observe

the jasmine lightness

of the moon.