we dwindle in our respective paths
no one dares to ask
of the outcome

hush-hush, silent-oathed
diminishment
cut and let drip

your dark scarlet secret
over the circle, ten-fold
winding up grief like a corkscrew

the flowers bloom and fall
discarded heads, lopped off
cartwheeling away to the undergrowth

souls cannot be sold, for souls
were never in our free possession
the springtime that died within you,

tell me, identify, the direction
of the noose and the siren
where the moon collapses