Crimson Rambler

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?

Published in Cornhuskers

Tags:

Any corrections or public domain poems I should have here? Email me at poems (at) this domain.