Diana in the woods

A new mown meadow--was wet lime green--framed
there an archer, posed as I stopped the path.
Her bow set on stand, she the last round aimed,
and put the target thus, precise as math.
Weapon in hand and arrow now ready,
next to draw, then release in measured grace.
Silent we held each our gazes steady.
She met mine, the Other set in its place.
She was tall in black, all with black bobbed hair,
she exposed just her bare white face and neck.
I thought then I was prey in that cold stare.
She herself would me, could some wanton wreck.
So to this Beauty I white surrender sent.
Marked me with "Just so"--so I and message went.

The greatest sin

Omission is a sin still,
mid inevitables,
twixt choices,
because of what we can
and what we can't.
It is grievous.
It'll send you to hell.
There is no redemption.
The lost opportunity can never,
gone ever to present itself again.
Consolation may be.
In what? a present, a word?
Not that either.
Because of ends.
Because of death.
Penance is knowing
that you have sinned,
that you live with it,
that people keep living,
or dying,
knowing and missing what you,
had you but.
Remorse there is none.
Not a pain--a luxury one could feel.
Guilt indeed in deed.
You know, and others, too.
Shame it all.
And I talk not
of just Darfur.