Beyond the River

The other bank

Where words

no longer hurt

 

Out of reach

And harm’s way

Resting

 

All the regret

In China

Insufficient

 

Jettisoned

In those seconds

So unremarkable

As to cut chasms

 

No Geneva man

Can repair

A Time

most singular

 

When the earth

Turned

with a shovel

That hole to dig

 

Buried in the scree

Of fame

And

Ambitious debris

 

No salve

For the wounded

Or

The wounder

 

Not a finger

Can span

Those aeons

Across

 

Pride’s grimace

Forbids it

Banned

Taboo

 

And wrong

A word

Never uttered

Or owned.