Now that a crimson rambler

begins to crawl over the house

of our two lives—

Now that a red curve

winds across the shingles—

Now that hands

washed in early sunrises

climb and spill scarlet

on a white lattice weave—

Now that a loop of blood

is written on our roof

and reaching around a chimney—

How are the two lives of this house

to keep strong hands and strong hearts?