Parrot; canopy...four-cornered; home is its name.
At the jackal's unclean touch the sun's tender buds lose suddenly their thunder-dress, the sun dies cloud by cloud; the solid canvas wife, the whole beautiful house, the kheud-yard... blue light plays in the eye's pupil, and burns almost like a nightmare.
Who are you at the door, whose hand can hold another hand? Shall I break the threshold today?
Rows upon rows of swooning flower-corpses... In full spring newly-born flowers fall and scatter in the reckless storm.
Suddenly at morning in the gathering dust-dance, in hail corroded by flood-companion, the fierce burning of rainless wind, soundless; wildfire blazes through all the old life...
Brief procreative memory is erased in evening's end by flower-exuberant breaking of chains.
No home, home runs, home still finds home.