The moon wide open.
    Horse of still clouds,
    and the grey ring of dreams
    with willows on the riverbank.

    I will not see you!

    Let my memory kindle!
    Warm the jasmines
    of such minute whiteness!

    I will not see you!

    The phantasm of the ancient world
    passed her sad tongue
    over a tear of blood
    spilled on the sand
    of recollection.

    I will not see you!

    Partly death and partly stone,
    bellowed like two centuries
    sated with treading the earth,
    I am the strangler
    of your dreams.

    Now I will see you!
    As I erupt with my seeding force.

Emily Dickinson's axiom
Emily Dickinson's Axiom...