|
Ascention
For Ali
We lay
atop our altar, barely
breathing, unmoving,
Shakespeare’s “death” has consumed
and leveled us.
I lay, sacrificial,
a burnt offering, repentant.
For she is my quince,
now eaten,
my original sin.
She lies, fallen
from her fair height,
a gift,
to a zealot
who took her
wings of re-ascension.
|