A Certainty

A growing child in red is a murder
phased in expectancy,
a tendency to throw everyone
else beneath - cast in fabric,
hammer and nails.
The hue is not cohesive, it phases
back and forth at each swell,
up and down the backstaircase
where pale condense testifies to
such a lasting impression.
Growing in red, a long
fastidious life is a
certainty on which we can depend.