Once upon a time he'd been granted political asylum
by Rose Mary Boehm

Diaspora equals tiredness,
a fatigue of tight shoes chafing,
the latent exhaustion
of filling crucibles with curses.

The anacoluthon of struggle.
Perhaps we did.
Apophasis. He had no intention
of talking about pharisaic canticles
or fiducial point failures.

Beatitude does not admit hubris,
but his lodestar lay fallow.
Her billets-doux yellowed
in the antique ivory chest.
A ramose tree almost covered
the small window of his hideout.

He was used to his exclusion.
Feared nothing more than
talking to Mrs Dugwort
about Sunday lunch.

Copyright 2023 by Red River Review. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.
No work may be reproduced or republished without the express written consent of the author.