The silk road into Moscow

The sundry stops, and stinks,

Her rising into fury

His sinking into think.

This edge of trees and wildings

The glazing of the sun.

This rising stench of wolverine

The moon falls to the Sun.

This mix of flesh and friendship

The rising up of love

This game of death and sacrifice

The cooing of the dove.

This beginning is the end

My friend

Pretence cannot abide

The crawling into nothing

This diseased disguise.

We can no longer hide.