Here at the height of the day night change br The color of the sky is uncertain, br The sky depending in which direction br One's eye strains, each of its swatches a strange br br Hue which dies too soon and which makes this hour br Linger in the mind transient as a life, br Whose names once known remain another br Posied-up portrait on our palette knife. br br Until even I wonder if one tint br Ever survives the harm of seeming unique br (Evening's intrigue, time's singularity.) br br Study for its trace, its placemap, I see br — Redundant as a stopsign in italic— br The face on which my profile leaves no print.