the sinking of high summer. the band plays on upon the deck.

the autumn turn of air

the trees turn off their leaves

the nights come sooner

the fog of our breath disappearing into sky

the trees turn off their leaves

and drop, the sun we shall not try

to catch, the shoulder of the earth

adorned in orange

this is a flag, and our motto

the seasons change, why

grasp at sorrow of earth we have

a sphere of curve, of lights, of blackness

and the sweep of universe in points of

intermittent light.