Wolf Hour (variation on a villanelle)

Have I betrayed you, child, that you have fled
Into the stark occlusions of the night?
These self-dug wounds write treachery in red
through which your accusations weave a thread
in shades contrasting: blue and red and white.

Have I betrayed you, child, that you have fled
from light and from the crushing weight of dread
which brings the flood, yet offers no respite
where self-dug wounds write treachery in red.
For you can't go where others never led
And love is burden where there's no requite.

Have I betrayed you, child, that you have fled
but in the fleeing you had left a tread
(which may be followed, if one sees how slight
these self-dug wounds write treachery in red)
and left the rest unfinished and unsaid
Abandoned, godless, in the pale grey light.

Have I betrayed you, child, that you have fled?
These self-dug wounds write treachery in red.