a rhyme remembering dreams,

a night with loosened seams,

 

view to an arete

past my gendarmes,

 

       (I need, we need

              new mem’ries

                      in your arms)

 

a pair of lines

that, parallel, would lay

 

a coupled culpability,

a positive capability,

 

that Keats, in all his reason

would be

 

found and lost

in magick

 

and our song.