The dawn also sets
as the rising pertains
to the flowing garden
of our strictest dissolution.
I painted you this evening.
You are my most recent victim
and I shudder to think of your energies.
I alight the doomsday clock
with phantasms of joy.
Your seeming-face is unrecognizable.
I turn to the nocturnes of the birds
and their hour is fine as sand.