We were nothing more To be everything less Than a mountain To shadow the sea. Love is our story, Our complexity, Our safety, Though we bleed so much, With tears that stream Down to our frozen chins. That mountain, Our love, Lowest In its deepening cratered Shallows Where anger raises up, For that mountain Is a volcano. Am I sympathetic, Or truly the man who is the beast? It dwells, It expels The fog from its open mouth, The steam from its opened eyes, The blood from its cut veins. The world starts With oceans apart, Siphoned out for devastation. The world is bright red In the mouth of the beast. Honey is now red, Licked free from every Morsel of flesh.