Known in detail, saving culture, ruined
for future wives—accustomed to trauma.
I’d greet in essence, perfected in
dysfunction, known to speak peace and
humility, known to slip away from
graces—asking about rules, living
apostleship, leaning into science—
those unexamined rites, the saga,
anxious in a scar, hearing, Namaste,
spoken underground—flying as we dine,
glued to speech, some excellent
erudition. Been lost for a time—
located at gates, listening to
Wisdom, her woes, her angst, her triumph.
I’d walk if the mountain held
differences, if promised a notion
bigger, better, more joyous than
loyalty; farm animals, toads and frogs,
one soft kiss, to amass into a
legend.
And exquisiteness requires death, the living
termination, if to make wings and dice like pearl unforgiveness. One last understanding—one
decent eternal—the first page has mother’s signature.
