Upon a reflecting surface again

Dormant tufted grass in the
elaborate enclosure
Smiling like an appeasing stranger
too ill to take a hint
Epochs of sailors and running men
warning the captain
This vessel is a young numbered age
holding a bulb a magnitude
Stems of flowers of sulphur, steady
returning from the center
Returning from the quadrant of a benign mass
and still in love
with her ashen waves