"Origins."
As though a voice were saying, you should be asleep by now,
but there was no one.
Nor had the air darkened, though the moon was there,
already filled in with marble as though,
in a garden crowded with flowers, a voice had said,
how dull they are, these golds, so sonorous,
so repetitious, until you close your eyes,
lying among them, all stammering flame.
And yet you could not sleep, poor body, the earth
still clinging to you.