& if wake to find myself
facsimile
stumbling between dark painted roots
hustled against the ground
a green
beleaguered fall
dancing amongst the webs of everlasting done
would my mother be proud
& if I wake taciturn
humbling
at mass & ark
unmovable
a glossy footless boot
rustled away from the boy seen
eager to be washed in it all
slipping amongst the rapids
truncated from the run
would my mother be allowed