the cutting of blood force the fawn from the rock to red below 

something of enormity amongst the will-o whispers of the forest

now comes frottage come rub against the vastness  feel alive

through waxen shame come write the past with blade and blow

watch the velvet shed through crimson feel the carnage drop rivulets

staining matted fur punch through afresh a green a blank a mass

flies agaric from the blackened earth blood read through silken bone

a white mossy trail down the leg of your fawn your mewling offspring

dragged to where the colours of the present day are drowned by ash 

as the clinkers of the fire burn for what once was red was warm