except where one black-haired tree slips  

up like a drowned woman into the hot sky.  

The town is silent. The night boils with eleven stars.  

Oh starry starry night! This is how  

I want to die. 

It moves. They are all alive.  

Even the moon bulges in its orange irons  

to push children, like a god, from its eye.  

The old unseen serpent swallows up the stars.  

Oh starry starry night! This is how  

I want to die: 

into that rushing beast of the night,  

sucked up by that great dragon, to split  

from my life with no flag,  

no belly,  

no cry.