On the eve
when evil
rolled up its sleeve:
Had it been that
the hunch lingered on
or even turned back,
hoisting the flag of alertness;
maybe alas wouldn’t escape
our throats hurriedly
like inmates on jailbreak,
just a few minutes to daybreak.
Even nine one one, a safe haven
gave up its line, won won—
No victory again on Earth
save heaven.
Some hear heaven
and heave even.
Some hear Zion
and they sigh on.
There’s this garment—one;
a gown meant to be worn by all
after the dearth of breath.
It will come one day
and we don’t have even one say.
If only men knew,
maybe we will all be good.