Through tendrils thick as mortar,

and scent as dense as hurt,

a window grows scantily

and sheens a jaded skirt.

Winter pulses warmth,

summer diseases carnivore,

triumph for the vine

to choke the family sore.

The house becomes the hill,

the serviced dines inside,

turning Key into prisoner,

a sanctuary that lied.

A nest that steals the egg,

a moon that eats the earth -

the colony of colonies;

each chop will haunt with birth.

The face at the window

is full with emerald beard

and regrets the day they planted

the jailer that was reared.