BB Table Test

The oldest of the Old World roils—

that desert, dear,

 

of your redemption. Do cheers, tear gas, or wails

 

move you, sleepless still, through

 

streets you once abandoned?

 

In bookstacks, yes,

 

 

 

 

 

we met

 

unmoored from our centuries.

A man whom I made speak had made you speak

 

till we three fled

 

that tattered crime scene.

 

And now in frescoed Lent, in hagiographic glass