CROW'S LAST STAND

Burning 

				burning

								burning 

                                				there was finally something

The sun could not burn, that it had rendered

Everything down to--a final obstacle

Against which it raged and charred

And rages and chars

Limpid among the glaring furnace clinkers

The pulsing blue tongues and the red and the yellow

The green lickings of the conflagration

Limpid and black--

Crow's eye-pupil, in the tower of its scorched fort.