Commitments and a strict morality
have hurricaned the mind’s most sweeping arc
and left the twisted arts that might have been,
screaming for light in furious, windy dark.
A child’s voice that asks the name of sin;
and older voice that seeks a child’s eye;
hintings of a pure fatality;
these are things for which a man might cry.
Visions habitate the close-held dark,
promising one last fatality,
thrown into a heaven-searing arc,
free of innocence and free of sin,
blessing those still free enough to cry.
What stopped the passage of what might have been?
Seeing once more as by a child’s eye,
commitments and a strict morality.

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