Where you then, feeble
Promise of childhood? Distant
Prodigious flower, velvet
Carpet to walk on?
You are withered even where they
Baptized you as the wind
And you repent right there:
Places they said you cannot sin.
On a windless day, in the month of June
You are what you knew you would
Never even dream to be. Except that you,
In the end of a verse, undeletably, be a word for me.