T e Mandarin Du k s Assent

48 Poetry The autumnal air flapped across my cheeks. I gazed at you in wonder. That Sunday morning, grinning as you paddled along— you stole the orange hue of sunset for your breast, vaunting the finest jewels a sapphire broach perched on your crown emeralds chimed at your sides roses framed your snout the night sky streaked your neck Why were you wading alone?

Autumn turned to winter. The frostbite struck my chest. You swam along in indifference, I realized the pity of our plight webbed feet continued to push on, cold waters

I bet she bore your beauty, hopefully your youth as well. Was it the lodgers who took away your home? Was it greed that triggered the bullet? Preoccupied persecution. Regret for mankind, for which I am torn, a part.

You floated away into distant water desperate pleas bleed from my lips— All Loving, All Knowing, All Powerful, Tri-Omni and destruction in juxtaposition? Free will is not an excuse.

The lake water flowed in rings, with silent, graceful passing as my tear stream trickled, upon my upturning lips one after another, in imperfect unison, five ducklings followed their mother, squawks harmoniously chimed as they ruffled their heads in cold water protected, playful profession.

In a pond of holy water, I am set free— his torture, distasteful death, lead to eternal life. I rose, gathered my things, and turned to the ducks one last time. Seven ducks, two adult and five young, reunited in the sky.