This is Nightland under our boots.
A sandpit in your moony heart.
Here be tigers of avarice,
the sun hidden behind a hollow stem,
a finger, a feather.

How unenduring the small things are.
How like a vapour.

You are a stigmata. I am a star.
A pair of hens kept apart in wonder.
One that’s of water and one as if wine.
Bound in vine-strands. Light’s playthings.

Now is forever and never is now.
You and I are a riddle in puns,
an emerald smoke from a burning forest
and another smoke of acrid crimson,
the two entwining, a helix taking form.

We’re walking arm in arm,
moving from the centre and toward the centre,
through dark cities, in circles of snow.
You were the secret and I was the sign.
Let us marry together our brief fortunes.