Unoffending sunbeams came forward,
eyes that surely matter amid
the gestures of clothes and flesh.
In exchanged darkness,
History remains massed all about them
(History is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake.)
Weaving heaps of wings
Already pressing destruction
Of nations of light,
The earth swarms with wanderers
Quoting decay with
The zeal of uncertainty,
The vain dishonor of god.