This evening I burned a page from my journal
because your name was on it. With a knife, I
tried to be gentle in cutting you out and
disappear. Now, when the villagers come with angry
voices, pitchforks and torches, they will have
only me to burn because I have beat them to you.
When I am arrested and put on trial for our crime,
when I refuse to know you, know me and know I
hide and tremble and burn your name,
not because I don’t care or have forgotten
what it was like to breathe you in, but
because the villagers—with their fire—
will burn us both if they can.