There is a battlement of houses

O darling, look
At the bonfires in the south. Wind
Washed, and falling fresh into red precaution.

Crying off, off my animal
Into the slow noon, peak of insecurity
Like a red dress, kissing our wounds

In the forgotten shade, wishing
In its creature shadows
For all love recurring

Its soft face peels with soft
Bark, rotten and giving way to you
Tender green and watery flesh
With tender awe of time

Marred in mind, shrunken thoughts
Twisting again from the stopping point
Beginning again, unended