Lofty leering cannot pine
the silver moons and tiring shrine.
Kinetic pardons only last
with crowns of black and white, of past
which glow in acid fermenting milk
and protruding needles of waning silk;
the color, unidentified,
has weaned my courage, all to lie.

The distance of the throngs of gold
are crooning for their mothers' gold,
and if they forget what of their ore,
they shall not return to their door,
for caress though the yields may hire,
the pilgrims grim and mounting pyre
shall procreate their pellets for leap,
counting, counting, without creep.