So was it dalliance or was it love?
That testing itch which offered no reprieve,
that kick as you were lying down, the shove
to ground of years ago, you disbelieve
or truly doubt?  Each bruise soon disappears
or fades to jaundice-yellow; brazen shouts
will echo, die in walls, while memory hears
an infant's whine, a calf's bellow, and touts
such victory it never really earned.

So, disbelieve, as if you'd seen a ghost
afloat downtown -- for such ignorance learned
will serve, suppressing truths regretted most,
as you await some future avatar
through seance, funeral, and falling star.