Face of the skies
 preside
 over our wonder. 

Flourescent
   truant of heaven
   draw us under.

Silver, circular corpse
   your decease
   infects us with unendurable ease,

touching nerve-terminals
   to thermal icicles

Coercive as coma, frail as bloom
   innuendoes of your inverse dawn
   suffuse the self;
   our every corpuscle become an elf. (mina loy)