how long i have stood watch
each night that i may catch
the fleeting chariot race
across the midnight sky—
and how generous the
fates to send me someone
as unkind as you.
(in my temple trophies of molt,
dead form as testament imago)
you masquerade cruelty and
fancy yourself unknowable,
call me stranger as
i blossom before you.
i stand yet,
await a different sign,
a different face—
as my love
is owed.