And another kind of wandering the landscape.
Also a six line poem written many years before.
For the rose of a Catholic dispensation.
You understand the word chrism.
A holy unguent and a very good rhyme in this case.
"Silver Lake, Vermont."
"Familiar gestures and a fresh hand.
The lint and balsam, sanctuary of the cooled flesh.
Under a tissue wound, your hair untied, your hair held back.
The balm of chrism dripped against your side."