He pretended to be insane
in front of Abimelech,
who sent him away.
When it was all over, slower
we walked—until the day
gave up on us, set down and out
to give her own eulogy. No One
talked about the loss, like the Sargents;
gone down, Isabella, away from your home.
We were together in your father’s house. You loved me
and I loved you. Our days together were sweet
like broken honeycomb, brighter than Zion’s back.
The day you fell on your father’s sword, the years
fell with you. I wandered in search of your body.
I walked into the temple and proclaimed my weariness:
I pretended mad to reach you,
and conjured up your name in the presence of God.
You remained felled and fettered to Sheol.
Some you cannot love.
Remember in the fields
when we alone stood under the ripe evening,
the ground furrowed, awaiting a sower?
Your arrow missed me
and we kissed farewell,
knowing one would sing over the other
buried under snow. Now beloved my lament:
Nothing cold-over can grow again.
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