The opals hiding your lids br as you sleep, as you ride ponies br mysteriously, spring to bloom br like the blue flowers of autumn br br each nine o'clock. And curls br tumble languorously towards br the yawning rubber band, tan, br your hand pressing all that br br riotous black sleep into br the quiet form of daylight br and its sunny disregard for br the luminous volutions, oh! br br and the budding waltzes br we swoop through in nights. br Before dawn you roar with br your eyes shut, unsmiling, br br your volcanic flesh hides br everything from the watchman, br and the tendrils of dreams br strangle policemen running by br br too slowly to escape you, br the racing vertiginous waves br of your murmuring need. But br he is day's guardian saint br br that policeman, and leaning br from your open window you ask br him what to dress to wear and br to comb your hair modestly, br br for that is now your mode. br Only by chance tripping on stairs br do you repeat the dance, and br then, in the perfect variety of br br subdued, impeccably disguised, br white black pink blue saffron br and golden ambiance, do we find br the nightly savage, in a trance.