we've lost.

Magenta hills, they've rolled with smoke
and fire swept our certain ashes

within the locks of ruby red,
we straw and bleed; we're twigs within

our broadest bent morality

and suffer we must, our skin pelts peeled back
revealing sickness in the white
white clouds that swirl and whisper
smoke sifted in the waving hands, the fond farewell--

and magic, and love

forgiveness, generosity
good sense and other things