I
am kept in dark order
of a terrible orb, alleys
the width of a broodmare’s shoulders, dank scent
now my own. Din of madness sparse comfort as
memory of wooden wheels clunk along stone pavers,
as beggars with streaming noses reach inside my
pockets. Kyrie Eleison-Kyrie Eleison-Kyrie
Eleison spoken into this eternal realm of now, my
undying reward: anguish you did not prophesize,
your voice now fading beyond closed doors.
