Hanging ( or, the ride of a selfish lover )

Through the trapdoor below –
Two filly eyes threw a soft light on me.
If that’s gratitude –
Fancy aloof?
Damned-damned, I will be.

Bless you!
But the child will die.
From the daybreak to the wrought noon,
Heave and heave,
As I leave –

The road to the woods is –
Cold, old mossy, immense lonely – Cassandra’s know.”
The door splits.
He floats –
In a soft glow.