The all-seeing eye is consumed by flames –
Like a pike-shaft driving deep in the heart
A vision of poetry right from the start;
These red and green shadows lick yellow walls,
This fire consumes, sputters and stalls
Woods, burning trees, forests and falls
Where butterflies clatter their gem-spreading wings,
Where bird-calls clap, and sounds soaring things
Into the heart (the nub) of the pen, that vents and vends,
Like "un pauvre vermicellier" in icy winds,
These words, snowflakes, fluttering down
That glisten with light and utter each crowns.