Suppose this was the root of everything.

Suppose it turned out to be or that it touched

An image that was mistress of the world.

For example: Au Château. Un Salon. A glass

The sun steps into, regards and finds itself;

Or: Gawks of hay … Augusta Moon, before

An attic glass, hums of the old Lutheran bells

At home; or: In the woods, belle Belle alone

Rattles with fear in unreflecting leaves.

Abba, dark death is the breaking of a glass.

The dazzled flakes and splinters disappear.

The seal is as relaxed as dirt, perdu.

But the images, disembodied, are not broken.

They have, or they may have, their glittering crown,

Sound-soothing pearl and omni-diamond,

Of the most beautiful, the most beautiful maid

And mother. How long have you lived and looked,

Ababba, expecting this king’s queen to appear?