| 0 | With no advantage |
| 0 | The gilded fear that guides the flow |
| 0 | Of everything that rhymes |
| 0 | Is in its clearest form |
| 0 | An image apart from ourselves |
| 0 | Whose palms create |
| 0 | As would a weaver |
| 0 | A shade of celadon |
| 0 | So etched in memory |
| 0 | Upon the break arch |
| 0 | That wounded weathered |
| 0 | Shut-ins on Sunday see |
| 0 | The very edge of its flame |
| 0 | And relent |