Tower cloud yes, yes, you horror
Warning from the dead
Born dying you: running multiplying
Window to the North
Then your card at twilight
The blind earth chilling with age
The sun meets the bold hand
And wastes the sea.
Homeward to your quick heart
The smoke- the flesh yes, yes
The plain number of your bent name
The golden hair of the wind
A girl comes toward you
Clutching a letter of mouths and images
Stoops in the waste of a dying lake
And welcomes us to the end of the world!