Rather notice, mon cher,
that the moon is
til­ted above
the point of the steeple
than that its color
is shell-pink.

Rather observe
that it is ear­ly morning
than that the sky
is smooth
as a turquoise.

Rather grasp
how the dark
conver­ging lines
of the steeple
meet at the pinnacle—
per­ceive how
its lit­tle ornament
tries to stop them—

See how it fails !
See how the conver­ging lines
of the hexa­go­nal spire
escape upward—
rece­ding, dividing !
—sepals
that guard and contain
the flower !

Observe
how motionless
the eaten moon
lies in the pro­tec­ting lines.

It is true :
in the light colors
of morning
brown-stone and slate
shine orange and dark blue.

But observe
the oppres­sive weight
of the squat edifice !
Observe
the jas­mine lightness
of the moon.