Over many a tangle in the hail

composed from the loneliness of sunless, bleak winds.

We watched in gaiety as everything washed in fire 

caught a glimpse only

in this crisis of seemed penitence.

And the skyline a thin orange haze 

and all was beautiful on fire.

As transient things are

this fortuity of hare erect

I found you drenched in sorrow

and you said you’d have me by dawn 

but alas, you never did.

These of flowers:

Travel-worn

twitching the chord

troubled, wilder and forlorn

dark, benighted, errant skies

all lurchings of your say.