A
n
n
e
S e x t o n

Not that it was beautiful,

but that, in the end, there was

a certain sense of order there;

something worth learning

in that narrow diary of my mind,

in the commonplaces of the asylm

where the cracked mirror

or my own selfish death

outstared me.

And if I tried

to give you something else,

something outside of myself,

you would not know

that the worst of anyone

can be, finally,

an accident of hope.