We're here in the blue night of a new year.
The moon ignites the chalk walls like brother
Scolding brother and slowly floats nearer.
The sycamore trees clutch at each other.
My hat falls off as I examine cracks
On the cliff edge not here a year ago.
I stuff broken bits into burlap sacks
To examine later in the chateau.
My cousin and his wife are now estranged.
She points at something below: "What is that?"
(She knows the secret night he has arranged.)
My cousin replies, "That's my cousin's hat."
I gauge this cliff will dissolve in the sea
Before the end of the century.
