EMILY MONDAY

#405

It might be lonelier

Without the Loneliness —

I’m so accustomed to my Fate —

Perhaps the Other — Peace —

Would interrupt the Dark —

And crowd the little Room —

Too scant — by Cubits — to contain

The Sacrament — of Him —

I am not used to Hope —

It might intrude upon —

Its sweet parade — blaspheme the place —

Ordained to Suffering —

It might be easier

To fail — with Land in Sight —

Than gain — My Blue Peninsula —

To perish — of Delight —