Alsop

The sojourners tried designating the world to the darkness to reflect the way I am.  Then they created their protections.

When did I unclench their papers?

I was adorned again.  That hiddenness made open. The spoils of my old self were dragged to the hilltop.

To be criticized I was percussive, and I refused to hide my dead. Untutored were the examined trees above me. Punctual trees, heavy and ridden by snow’s asymmetry.  Perhaps this was how I developed my sensitivity for unsteady measure. No there. This half-silver unbroken palate, blue gradient of midheaven.

Bright was my disappointment to summon what might already be perceived. Grief’s compression & renewal were not wedded to the things I fed you.