Tractor.

Sparkle of a sunny hairspray
On a dried body
Like a bowl of sugar
Warm white strands
Over vacent eyes
Once so beautiful
Now so utterly silent,
Like the end of great music
In a finger of white moonlight.

And by the canal
That runs past our home
Shriveled and decayed:
A dust-storm gathers.
Again it will rain red fire,
Again the carpet of sand will flicker
On the edge of boiling water;
And all the kettles will pop dry
Expload their sinews onto the clouds
Dawn had been waiting for
To spit out the remains
Of the dawn it suceeded.

by Jacques du Lumerie

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