Fontegaia... today's draught.

23  (a Masque)

The dogwood colors gradually, blushing
plum and russet, slowly reddening
to holly scarlet, then fading... til
each leaf, like kiln-fired clay, goes drifting

along the ground. So many stray horses,
lost in an autumn wood, all flames
And the chill in the air - the seraphim!
Terrific echoes from the future race

- boomerang into the past - the chariots
of Israel and her horsemen
! Elijah
leans near the gleaming throne, a grail-
ship in his hand
- Lord, suspended - floats!

The dark drops quickly now, a silvery
wrinkle of late-summer crickets (curtain
of homely sound). Soon my labyrinthine
morris dancer will emerge (memory

a buried well). Fleet companion,
lightfoot arborist... whose brook
slips past a forest door - dark book
of frittery wings (dried myrmidons).

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