After reading St. John the Divine, Gene Derwood, 1909-1954 Moon's glow be seven fold multiplied, turned red, Burned fierce by the coronal limbs at last Out-leaping insulating space, a-blast The searing heat sheeting round earth ahead Of the scorched geoid's course; and I a-bed Watching that increased flame and holding fast To pulse and pillow. Worse! No shadow cast By chair or cat. All people waking dead... Earth lurches spacial waste; my room is hot ; That moon waxes her monstrous, brimstone disk ; Thick fear stretches before the febrile light ; Green fires pierce at my clenching eye's blind spot... My buried soul, rising to face the risk, With one pure deed restores the natural night.