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