John Ashbery

[...] Five days from the last clerestory
your ambiance drained into the pockmarked shutters.
Obviously the jig was up. What's that? Whose jig? O I can see
      clear
ahead into the flying; the poor don't talk much about it,
but her apron is ambrosial with trellised stars,
her stance stares down even the most unquiet,
and on days like this you ride free.
There was such numismatics in his pocket
as only jitterbugs in cyberspace could conjugate
while from fate's awning the diamond drip descended, bigger
than both of us, big as all outdoors.

John Ashbery, from "Come On, Dear," in Notes from the Air : Selected Later Poems (Ecco, 2007), pp. 228-9