Pilgrim’s Lament

You stripped me bare,
Because I was foolish enough to wear
Vestal robes in barbed-wire’s stead
Because I trusted what you said,

Because I cared to try,
And the kindness you denied
A reminder of my first propulsion,
The origins of my sharp compulsions

A million fresh starts.
You broke my heart
But I remembered your face,
And this time, it was to your disgrace

And I took no photographs
I carried no images of the path
That led past your busy deeds
Furiously planting weeds

In your weed garden.
When did you first harden?
When did your eyes glaze,
And fade, and succumb to the haze?

How could you not see
We blazed brilliantly
With love you need never earn.
How could you not see us burn?

I remembered how to lace my shoes,
To nod, and bow, and pay my dues
To slip silently through the open door
Before you ask for more.

I carry fragments, moments shared
Between the caught kindred there,
Who loved in warmth, in deed, in laughter,
Whose memory are fires still burning after

Yours flickered away.