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Fire Sermon
Robert Gray
a stocking-textured water
takes the morning's cerise(樱桃色).
But soon, between the headlands, sea and sky are solid blues
that have closed, almost
seamlessly, like stone.
And yachts have come out to climb on the sea's face, slow
and wavering -- the way
that cabbagemoths walk.
These foreshores are deeply tented in eucalyptus2 saplings
and tea-trees, leaned
on the engorged light.
filmy and flashing, fuse
into sheets, all around.
Now the rhythmical5 light-points shoal the water thickly
as the shift to shoveled
gravel in cicadas' song.
Simmered eucalyptus oil vaporously uncoils, accompanying
angophoras, the dancing
On the far shore, house-faces are hung, white muslin among
in the blue Empire.
I have left everything behind, for an endpaper shore; to lie
under membranous11 layers, as
to see one ignite another, billowing, and genealogies13 decline;
to watch here day's ardor(热情,狂热)
that turns water into wine.
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