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.