demarcation

the answers
to my pretty window
are inscribed in notebooks
that sunk to the ocean's bottom
on a lost trip through the dark

the questions
to my darling doorframe
are coveted with the fringes
of hinges made from rust

so dance drunk with merriment
upon this marble rainment that
lasts like a grave that speaks
in silence like a slave that
devours our play as fast as
we can win; the soul's forfeiture
upon Buddhist sin, the lines
that don't matter and infringe,
laughlines, tired lines, waiting
for fines, and at last a love
within this sepulchre marked
unknown, marked blown by leaves,
settled in crumbled earth's relief
like security, like life set free,
like sequence delivering all
the roses to the living as they
wait behind frontdoors for the
heat to pour for the sun to reveal
the shore, for the dance we promised
after life had burst like a raspberry
upon the skein of linen framed by
fate, by desire, by destiny, by
laughter at it all again...