why We cried –

granite, taken

with Precision, mused-

upon – this

Coeval inkling of Ours

now Sudden

with ramped Colors

and Sensate longings here we

see Lights

at tunnels’ ends we subsume Our

mystery in her grace, a

subtle instep

unerring and true behind Enemy lines

this fruit

of meaning’s issue here the blood

will Spill

again where Oil is scarce and lies

conflate with irony to

procure manumission of our Spirits

there before the sparking

fire we lick our wounds and surrender

sacrifice for Splendor, your

round inchoate forms revolving in desultory

skins, these

wrappings of a celestial demeanor

now ours at last

beneath the rabid Night --