An inter-sanctum where I live… not for you or you or you to forgive. Platitudes and platitudes of discourse I cringe, though not a one will know The gifts you’ve given come with an interpreter’s silent force.
Hell’s yard sale from below. … One that marks another in brotherly love of those who remain… with often a valedictorian refrain … I could hold your hands from outside the wired gate When those above us reflect on human quakes. … To you, to others, I am but a precious mistake
I am Brangien [Brangaine] of Weisefort, Ireland, lady-in-waiting to my cousin Isolde, who became promised to King Marc of Cornwall. His nephew Tristan escorted us to England by ship. But Tristan and Isolde fell in love at sea. As ye may know, or will find out, they cite the philter they drank as the cause, over which I was supposed to keep vigil. I would like to share my perspective of how I have created good in the world through my herbs and observations. There is much to tell, including how I have adopted this odd language. In good time. My life is in God’s hands. –Inspired by the modern French translations of the Tristan and Isolde texts