How shall I know when I have arrived
worthy enough and on time?
The stones to the altar
almost impossible to climb.
When the white ibis slams the cliff
her velvet wings disappear.
The pages of the book in hand
origami themselves into mini-ibises
that carry the wind like kites.
When I jettison “betrayal” and “lost”
With new knowledge in hand
I swear I’ll be more kind.
Their words will no longer burn
my fingers and eyes.
I shall compose a rationale to explain
how the poem should spill its odd music.
Sing with broken syllables
In praise of a different divine.