Aug 212011
 
  
Round and round, the circulating vast
Echoes the cold shadow that it casts.

Round round dials the running hands
Give chase, though no central sun 

Commands.  Here's no heavenly cove, 
Perfumed and wreathed, rolling rich 

And blue beside our inside seas.
Is it a death to stand without you

On the riverbank, and look? 
The solitary sun revolves 

In bare space, tinting each 
Uplifted face.  Is this enough

Of love, of grace?  What satisfies?
Eh!  At best, an arid paradise.

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