steady waves of rainbows coming in
to gentle touch the ever yielding shore

the many multitudes who e’er begin,
the constant flows of all who still need more

    that mastery of none
    whose hearts still yearn;
    a skirmish never won,
    the endless churn —

and still upon the banks of stolen eyes
the color breaks into its many parts;

the wearing off of that last bit of guise,
the turning over of our lemon carts

    the neighing of a horse
    that’s gone astray;
    the staying of their course —
    the ripples way