The doors within the house outline the black
of sky, the yellow stars, the wandering gold
of planets. The air is dry and crisp, the cold
winter months brood loneliness, I am back
from the horizon of time. She is what I lack
in my heart, what the verses of the old
masters represents. I observe the folding
tapestries, the leaves of books, the stacks
of scripture in the shadows. Two-faced Janus
connects subject and object, I have studied
the undulating clouds, the virtue of pious
Aeneas. O night reveal the awful duty
of independent spirit! The rise of Venus
illumines morning with ecstatic beauty.
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