When I told him that returning to prison
Was preferable to continuing the miserable
Mincemeat midden I’d made of my brittle, bramble-bullied life
He was troubled, I saw him struggling to hide
The wet light slicking his arid, educated eyes
What comfort concealed had providence’s zeal made real before his sight
Indeed, he reeled at its appearance as at Hydra’s crew-dividing uphike;
As a quiet manageress might do when an angel communes “Have no fear.”
Alchemisland 
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