Making a Mystery of Pollution

Smudge of fire,

cold clouds of dawn

devour your flaming face;

you look like Mars in red defeat-

a woman whose last beams of scorn

shot down but never reached their mark.

No gazing lovers' eyes

were burned last night,

your web of stars' slight tremble

when I caught you; full and white

spying all who would admire the beauty

of your March's light, disguised by darkness-

when some unknown hour revealed

pure anger in your heart.

You tore tides wild, enraged,

your violence in unwary seas' blue veins,

yet now, I watch the mystery of your bloody face

sink down, what drowned remains of fury's ashes

cool and grey-

I cannot beg confession from the night

when day stands close, but wait,

until this secret evening's alliance

allows me to be your confidante.