6. "Unvow Altair"

I vaunt a mango tankard in this church;
I chant with ghosts and know not which is you.

My wounds go winging into glorious rust;
I span a latifundia that's no frith.

Your mouth a moon of circuit-slaking snows
Strums rubicund flagon, poppy and habitat.

My cranch transition glows all foolish and faint;
I chat with mists and know not in what argot.

You drank a splash from any flown horizon;
You go a gipsy flourish crumbling charcoal.