Jennifer Reeser

B

Blue-Crested Cry

We’re through, we’re through, we’re through, we’re through, we’re through

and — flanking, now, the edges of our schism —
it seems your coldness and my idealism
alone for all this time have kept us true.

Credulous I and hedonistic you:
opposed, refracting angles of a prism
who challenged sense with childish skepticism —
and every known the bulk of mankind knew.