The Dream
I have a dream
To fill the golden sheath
Of a remembered day….
(Air
Heavy and massed and blue
As the vapor of opium…
Domes
Fired in sulphurous mist…
Sea
Quiescent as a gray seal…
And the emerging sun
Spurting up gold
Over Sydney, smoke-pale, rising out of the bay….)
But the day is an up-turned cup
And its sun a junk of red iron
Guttering in sluggish-green water
Where shall I pour my dream?
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