the quill is a cleft in earth

In my widow-way I held allegiance 
to the pomp of heraldry.

I wore it well, my lozenge shield 
garlanding the instruments of passion.

My arms–

did little to protect. Bespoke dissent,

the fall & flowering.

The nails were thrice gilded & split 
at their centers to pierce, 
to give gravity 
to hands & feet & heart.

Would prop—

Would point to lapis, a diamond suspended there—

Would demur to that.