[Cut is the branch that might have grown full straight]
Take this to heart, you scholars of misintent:
I am to burn not only the books, but the sky
full stream of meteors that fall as they fall
when man abides the unlawful. Justice
is marked so. By increments. By angles.
The turn of a wheel. There's one
who takes notice, one who takes
advantage. So by the boughs overladen
with autumn-past fruit. Near-frost: yellow
by withering. So by the bow the archer
strung with heart's aim and doe
downed by higher cunning. Liquid eyes
the goddess might inhabit. Soft brown
hide that is anything but my earlier form.
Aligned by degree. Decree of insight,
some partiality of what before
was charged with meaning. To practice any
gesture of wonder would unking my seat
here in the high glory stakes, mine
for reaching. Hellish to fall, no doubt:
the place we know ourselves. Unfortuned.