Crimson Rambler

Now that a crimson rambler begins to crawl over the house of our two lives —

Now that a red curve winds across the shingles —

Now that hands washed in early sunrises climb and spill scarlet on a white lattice weave —

Now that a loop of blood is written on our roof and reaching around a chimney —

How are the two lives of this house to keep strong hands and strong hearts?