In a field speckled with the last of the cone flowers, and grass Bending to rust, I gaze at This city's unchanging steel and Its caged ambition - and before its Doorstep the ever mutable sea.

It is these borderlands I inhabit - Serving at Mammon's temple and Stealing into Mnemosyne's vestibule, As I wait for the winter's breath To unloosen me from my green Fever, and make me as naked

As the aquamarine nestled against                              Radhika's throat.