vapor dome

I have a dream
To fill the golden sheath
         of a remembered day.

Heavy and massed and blue
         as the vapor of opium …
Fired in sulphurous mist …
Quiescent as a gray seal,
And the emerging sun
Spurting up gold
         over Sydney smoke-pale,
         rising out of the bay.

But the day is an upturned cup,
And its sun a junk of red iron
Guttering in sluggish-green water.
Where shall I pour my dream?

Lola Ridge, “The Dream,” Poetry (September 1920)