Meditation on a Poetic Malapropism

Soon it will be dark.
What I write is strictly true —
At 5:00pm this 21st of Janus' month,
The molten globe is due
To turn from Earth, and she will wear
The light's cool absence like a cape.

What I write is true, but lapses into
Mere circumlocutions of the true:
That darkness (1) prefigures absence, (2)
Is, absent, said to be a thing, and (3) is finally used
To symbolize the commerce between sun and earth, sol
And mundi orbis, Gaia, Helios —

I am surrounded by and orchestrate these sounds:
I named her Earth, touched her with a tender face,
Broad mountains for her spine, and peaks
To be her craggy teeth, then set her in the aether
By the bosom of the sun, whose penetrating rays
Incurred my life. And now he is to set,
To slip beneath the mother's ruby breasts,
And I shall be alone.