Come, sister—read us the truth:
who can explore with no strength?
They, on sacred will, persecute
the wanted mind of thy soul pleasure—
then your powerful memory
plants desire as a good seed.
Up, up through some house above
we see and write our promise
that no radiant daughter
will dance in everlasting dark.
(Yeah, I know it’s lame. At least I wrote something—right?)
(I’ve started writing poems when I think I don’t have time for prose. This needs to stop.)
(Crumb. I don’t think I can.)