“Charity thinketh no evil”

Repeats and repeats and repeats

No purer love than to trust

And, with arms clasped tight,

Fall without hesitation.

To leap off good intentions

And catch hold of another,

Wrist to wrist,

And wrest away the rest,

To pry from fingers stress

While gasping for relief.

Of such have fragile whispers no part,

Nor dust upon a misplaced photo,

Nor scratches on discarded albums

That skip each pleasant beat

All ashes, all ashes, and embers sweet.