Bred to a harder thing
Than Triumph, turn away
He takes the loop of string from her fingers.
And like a laughing string
Whereon mad fingers play
It's such a normal thing to do. Playing cat's cradle.
Amid a place of stone,
Be secret and exult,
He loops it around his fingers in the first form, holds it out to her.
Because of all things known
That is most difficult.
"Are you feeling any better?"