We Said Our Common Ancestor Was Eve

    (a canzone for Ann)

Chance it was that made Ann     my friend & the end
of my love             for Gregorian chants. I thought to pose
as an answer to her       question about heaven’s distended
intention to make a singed     fruit &, therefore, self. Wend
us a new way, we’d meant      to say to the sky, but went
our ways before the prayer      romanced us. Fanciful blend
we were, our puerile          hands fondling what lends
virginity its antidote. We doted         as noxious toxins
dote on the dead, fed      our dreams inevitable sins,
the kind you lie about till you grow      mean, start bending
your will to an order           you’d reinvent this instant
if only it were yours. (It is           yours, as this taunt’s

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