A Choice

			
She looks to you with enmity,
Destroyer of familiarity.
A life comprised of memory,
She holds its fragments longingly
 
You have sundered image from reflection;
You have given her imperfection;
You, with tempestuous inflection,
in tragedy show affection
 
But this thing came into this world
the very same as Alexander.
Fits of rage and cries of joy,
Stiffened straight and slackened soft
New life dances, shakes, collapses
 
Born of sin, born of flesh
Born of love incommensurate
Would heaven blame the heathen’s choice
If two lapped lovers had no say?
‘tis nature, ‘tis nature, they say, ‘that guides all
‘tis nature’s choice, ‘tis nature all
but, but, the two lovers stutter, but
what of the fall?
what of the fall?
What of that story, what of it all?
 
She looks to him, and he to her
She casts him in a cloud