architecture of the plot

She says,

so it be to quite useful

as always parallels of these.

And so it was–

the familiar and the safe–

warm, soupy, languid stretch'd

the bulbous orbed lanterns

stringing magic in the waning

summer

light–

and so it was, at 4 years

those spots of lumination

pitched into black

and I, out of breath, out of sorts

am terror

hung out on the empty line

fronting ravaged skies–

as I watch, with tears in

my eyes,

the turbulence settles,

mid grainy charcoal,

through most begrimed

lens of mine,

a single red lantern

luck fleeting

severed from its ties

a lonely, lonely sight

Where did our summers go?–

and I fall into my mind

I remember a time

on a bridge

in firecracked night

cider-scribed water bottle–

and I glimpsed, far,

far away,

a red lantern

but then

I broke

as into

infinitely happy.

Then it was a token

that thing I keep

calling

Magic–

You never expect

what's beneath

your sanctuary,

or question on what

loopholes

it presides.

This is how the plot unfolds–

though of absolute abhor

principles of this kind–

as it unfolds, what

is its design–

and that is why I threw

it back to you–

you, who know

who you are,–

You left first, and

I watched

it fall away–

Jetzt

I will not again

sacrifice myself

to the

architecture

While you study the foundation,

I take to the sky.