To C.H.

It will not end,
this evening of beer.
The truths ramble near
and you are my friend.

We talk of a girl.
Her breath is your birth.
Burn me to death,
red fire of smashed pearl!

This firefly queen
glanced off as you glanced.
With her you have danced.
What shone, what was screen?

Though now she swerves
and you shout strange –
a midget in a trench –
Christ, she could love!

It will not end,
this evening of beer.
Truth drowns in fierce fear.
But you are my friend.