Crepitating strokes of the sun
Beseech the scorned salt flats
With retention of moment;
To free ice of its temperate
Chill, and stinging glow.

Will you see my red skies?
Where devil tread is light
On crusts of dead lands
And above the clouds
Billow their tune, and

Acquiesce to the blazing
Spheroid of gas alight,
As pleasant days revolt
Are reviled, and sink
Below the horizon…

I know you are my sun.