The sun that puts its spokes in every
Wheel of manhandle and tree
Derives its path of seashines
(Sheer centrifugality) from my
Regards. I send it
My regards. Some yards
Of lumen from the fabrika
Have come unbolted from the look
Of it (or likes of me), a long
Unweaving or recarding I
Cannot recall begun, and there
Before my eyes a palm
Puts lashes round the sun.
