Poetry Column: September

Poetry Column: September

The Choice I come now to this tenuous junctureWhere I must choose to believe.My breast-fed faithIs weakeningMy presumed and presumptuous tenetsAre eroding like river-run flagstone,Sloughing off like micaIn smoky-transparent sheetsI see no end to this hurting.I feel no confirmation of this hopeI have clutched for these long years;Nor do I require any giftings As brideprice for the unionOf my faith to You.

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