Brush of eyes over the rustle of wings,
A restless turning away into a self
You thought purgatorial penance
Had so surely thoroughly erased.
Could it be him? Here?
Your mind staggers, stumbling
Over his obvious redemption
The way you stumbled from the bar
The early morning he followed you,
Beat you, raped you, murdered you.
You, you, you, you—gone, not forgotten,
Eternally begotten of the moment
His knife opened your aorta
And you learned somehow nothing
And absolutely everything was true.
You walk the winding, ancient paths
Daily for several thousand years
Before you forget you again.
