teen poem

the darkness steals the forms of all the queens
if the red slayer think he slays
she has a clear, wind-sheltered loveliness
glooms of the live-oaks
afraid no more, i say
to the passionate lover
wrap the earth in cloudy weather
give me
daughter, thou art come to die
the long resounding marble corridors
uplifting, as the wind blew
when the wind works against us in the dark