Request

He came into the room, the slant high shard 
Of the silver spiral spending down the glass 
That spins and spins from the aether and mass 
Of galactic space the time of the slow canard 
And sleight of satan, and he said, quietly, “I guard 
The field beyond Orion, where my light is a tassel, 
Tossing vision and dusting the dark. The castle 
Of my sunning reign is made of mirroring, hard 
Before the warmth of winnowing. See the folding 
Lands, the wavering tungsten steel, the aural 
Sheets, the rills of filament. I touch the molding 
Smokestain rose and hear the wind of the coral 
Sea against it. This is the quest I face. 
Will you help me here, to make this faery lace 
Of elements a paradise?”