When the worst in you climbs out
pale and slick from a basement of your own making
do you cower and freeze?
Do you move fast as distraction will whip you
anything at all but that?
Do you block the acquaintance with projects-type
fast, cheap, ugly construction,
forcing it into another, though now above ground,
Who are you in your fullness?
What do you do with the wretched creature who is, also,
What if you stop your steps away from the intolerable,
turn in your terror,
and place a crown on that wretched head?
Even if, at first, it is made of paper
and sags a little.
Because one of gold has yet to be forged.
What would the welcoming of one forced down,
forced out and away,
At the start,
even a whispered hello
Until you can both bow
to the darkness in light and soften
in the dark.