I dreamt of sequin grass,

And of a chanticleer;

That crows, dun, quietly

Upon thy clover hare—

Foregone, thy company,

She runs, and disavows—

Laved in dew and slitting grass,

She bounds, a silhouette,

Across vermilion suns

and prodigal pines,

As if thee, ‘live and well,

Abound and leap by her side.