A pitiless yet shallow wire
Above our soft and crimson air,
A slight perspective of desire,
With all familiar delusion,
And all this consecrated light,
All bitterness and all confusion -
We know so much and yet we differ
From those whose names all merge in one...
'You are so rancorous, my anchor..." -
You could have said, but you have not...
The Sun mischeviously tampers
With our guts.