Not guns, not thunder, but a flutter of clouded drums 
That announce a fiesta: abruptly, fiery needles 
Circumscribe on the night boundless chrysanthemums. 
Softly, they break apart, they flake away, where 
Darkness, on a svelte hiss, swallows them. 
Delicate brilliance: a bellflower opens, fades, 
In a sprinkle of falling stars. 
Night absorbs them 
With the sponge of her silence.