Man sees the stars
and turns aside
suspicious of such tidings
on a perilous midnight.
Man turns his face
from the terrors of incense
for the tigers are howling
when Man means to go home
on a star-spangled midnight.
There can be no salt, and no joy
from fresh dew in the morning,
from wife or from home or from life
in the wake of such tidings
as stars and terrors of incense.
Afterwards, Man dies.
Sheets with the whiteness of stars
and incense and oil and dirt
and tongue knowing no spices, no salt.
And the cold angel caresses the God!