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.