Heliograph

Obsequious sunbeams send your flash

'Through deserts of space-time: the dot and dash

Safe delivered, I mark the pattern,

Look for a meaning, but the code's forgotten.

Just playing with your looking-glass perhaps.

On these commodious mountain-tops,

Each self-contained, five minutes from the stars,

No need for stone walls or iron bars:

Blue space pens us in: like boys

On a wet day, each plays with his own toys.

But pop-guns sometimes, past your conceiving,

Shoot sparrows or bigger game. So lest deceiving

Lucifer-distance carry curious error,

Hide, hide your flashing mirror.