The fountains are dry and the roses over.
Incense of death. Your day approaches.
The pears fatten like little Buddhas.
A blue mist is dragging the lake.
You move through the era of fishes,
The smug centuries of the big—
Head, toe and finger
Come clear of the shadow. History
An ‘era of fishes’ could possibly be an allusion to how Sylvia views the cycle of fertility and childbirth. 

The Manor Garden