Wednesday, September 08, 2004

1.39



Diana is warden of the panoptikon,
Heaven, the core, sleeplessly informed of the outer, wilder
     ambit of earth,
The outpost of empire, where vice and sedition grow best
     their bloom,
And if one termite mortal so stealthy
Should think to use the emerald crevices of forest,
The opal confusions of stream,
Or any such obscurity for a hidingplace,
The archeress has a barbed gaze to penetrate,
Demagogue who made the paths, equally to be negotiated.