Plans are made anticipating delight;
The plains spread out their prospects like a strategy —
Their low grade good for comedy or tragedy
Beneath the moon where trains run long at night.
The delta gleams lascivious black and white,
Performing as an estuary in chiaroscuro,
And spreads her lurid shallows like an adage:
Light is a blind, and blindness an advantage
Along the pools abyssal in a furrow.
This ice is thin that covers an inferno;
It’s falling short of picturesque, this frost;
The morning landscape stretches less then calamity;
Death wants depth, craves gauge that’s if it cannot be
At least a life, at least a vision lost.