An Old Woman’s Painting

Scrape the sun from the wall of  the sky.
Cast the great nets of  autumn over the houses.
Even the throat of  the lily is a dangerous inlet.

Let the world stand wearily on the stoop of  the jail
of  the world and the light of  the mind, that small lamp,
pearl of  shine, let the night come to it, as iron filings to a magnet,