cloven hoofprints

forgive me, she said,
this landscape is murder
the
wrists of twilight wring
the septembering arms
of mire, deep in dooms
of love, this motionless
forget and the dusk a
sweet red stain of pom
-egranate we fall, dizzy
horizon folding into it-
self in our dense history
rheumatic shadow grow
s overgrown of weeds
the
wraith smears the cloven
hoofprint dark and
unreadable