
Indulgence’s Reward
You will cut the name
out of your brain,
your heart will complain.
You will shed tears
then return to empty pages
that fill you with words
as if they were sons and daughters.
You will shed words
like old coats
and they will grow cold
without a body.
You are not a prophet,
just practiced in good-byes,
impaled upon the sword
of this world whose love
turns a knife in its own heart.