Through dismal dance
we flitting wend;
sunful medicine,
pale crucifix
of force
on forceless medium compelled.
Bring vines
to bandage love-shorn garb;
split the aching corset,
free of thorns
the starry breast.
These are my favorite lines. I like the crucifixion imagery–not sure if it is purposeful–the thorns (or lack thereof), pale crucifix, and ...shorn garb whisper at a possible connection. I love the sing song nature of the first three lines of this stanza and how they propel it into the meat of this section. You also made me learn a new word. Kudzu. After learning this word the stanza took on even more life. 😎