Clasped. Shiver ways through liquored lines
long streams of steam and whiskey warped,
weft pulled and wrung around. Closely, observe.

In Amsterdam, on a may morning, perhaps just before 10,
there was a girl. She walked in two steps the length
of her shadow. In three steps the length of the length.
Craftily, deep in animal cunning, she clicked twice her heels
and held close. Another time, perhaps.