Alright, I suppose it's done after this

Alright, I suppose it's done after this.
The last speech, the last morning phone call
and whisper above the static, the last eye
in a foggy mirror, the last golden Sunrise

in Bayou Gauche. I have inspected two-faced
Janus' monument and the cyclic nature
of the perennial calendar. The sidereal
zodiac regresses slowly, the retrograde

of planets, apparent motions, occultations
of benefic luminaries. I muttered monologues
under the maples, translated soliloquies

in the dim moonlight. Alright, I suppose
it has only just begun. The first word
from a beautiful woman creates the day.