Life's mysteries reveal themselves in the morning.
revelatory hush and fog prepare a sacrifice,
uneaten, left on the ground for the gods
and for those who whisper with their feet
as the sun arises. Decadent is the luxury of
being loved, when nothing else is sure, anywhere.
Would the blades of grass that will surely grow above you
accept you any less readily should you die tomorrow
or age until your hundreds.
when you know that all you want is one thing, finally...
a reverence stains the glass, how you see things lit through the pane...
and if it does not want you,
you can let it go.