Dawn in the Fall of My Thirtieth Year

And through Tudor windows opens antique timbre—
old-forge steel, tempered and flank-fitted for war horses,
makes seize-music on meat-pistons that mean plunder:
As if.
………For I know a construction truck’s shuddering out its raised dumper,
and the sun is a vinegar sponge. And You slowly thumb up Your pure pressure.
Let me will to possess such a life, such a love, such a terrible noise.