[Camachee]

she demanded
imprimatur
and he
condescended
to grant
the grace
she already
possessed

[Camachee]

funny
that onlookers
scanning
my colors
and compositions
never select
my soul
leaving the art
of my salvation
in doubt

[Kay Syrah]

When I was young
I dug cohen and dylan
and useful ditches
in a place of poverty
reflecting on the distance
between cheap despair
and free grace,
wondering if
the chasm was worth
the repair,
and fixing the
price certain
of both. Between
the walls that formed
the sluicing chasm,
I prepaid the illusion
of self determination
with the sweat of
the moments’ demands
and judged the worth
of my self dispensation,
by the blisters
on my hands