6
what's o'clock
Who are you to aspire beyond the petals,
To touch the golden burning beneath the marigold robe?
His sash is magnificence clasped by an emerald;
His scimitar is the young moon hanging before a sunset;
His voice is the sun in mid-heaven
Pouring on whirled ochre dahlias;
His fingers, the flight of Autumn wasps through a honey-coloured afternoon.
So, Scheherezade, he has passed the dragon fountains
And is walking up the marble stairway, stopping to caress the peacocks.
He will lean above you, Scheherezade, like September above an orchard of apples.
He will fill you with the sweetness of spice-fed flames.
Will you burn, Scheherezade, as flowers burn in September sunlight?
Hush, then, for flame is silence,
And silent is the penetrating of the sun.
To touch the golden burning beneath the marigold robe?
His sash is magnificence clasped by an emerald;
His scimitar is the young moon hanging before a sunset;
His voice is the sun in mid-heaven
Pouring on whirled ochre dahlias;
His fingers, the flight of Autumn wasps through a honey-coloured afternoon.
So, Scheherezade, he has passed the dragon fountains
And is walking up the marble stairway, stopping to caress the peacocks.
He will lean above you, Scheherezade, like September above an orchard of apples.
He will fill you with the sweetness of spice-fed flames.
Will you burn, Scheherezade, as flowers burn in September sunlight?
Hush, then, for flame is silence,
And silent is the penetrating of the sun.
