Of Paying

When we are wrapped in dark word's
worlds, a circumscript of starlit
twinkle, the grass a foil,

we will be old and wrapped in paper slips
white, or whatever they shall be by that light,
we shall move and crinkle, and from far
we shall blaze then, quick as when
you are near now

but you will be far then, you must be far
to twinkle god-like, foil
to my shaken mind, golden dark.