in twelve days my sabbatical will be
over: a self imposed year of celibacy. a
yr of looking down, dismissively smiling
chuckling not laughing cuz a touch or a stare
a sideways glance may lead to other things
& i'm not ready for other things, or other ones
not yet how odd to think me a nun when we
met. how odd to decide such a year. how daft?
how prodigious? how fast how a spin of
self
reflection
becomes a twist
how a God
may play with
me, w/ thoughts, w/us
w/our
self will