a fooled warrior tempered by self-will

why have you
forsaken me,
my God?—holy
One of Israel
enthroned behind
clouded indifference
to my cries this day.
i am hellbent on
allowing split, scarred
skin ache upon this
heady pride, disabling
more than these bones.
i decided i’d take control—
ask the impertinent question,
is it too late? & on the other
line, a woman says no, you
must be looking in the wrong
place. i’m quiet, almost forgetting
her ear is pressed against speaker
waiting reply: i’ll have to look again.
& when i do, two options remain,
not one of them being still with you.
only two seasons, summer & spring,
begging : go on, move on now—

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