Start in the center and move toward the edge.
Born of my mother, I’m moving that way.
Stones on the landscape are sometimes engraved.
People I’ve moved with—all moving that way,
pausing to sigh on the narrowest ledge.
Once I pretended that I was a judge,
verdict and sentence my privilege to say.
Robed in that power—such power to taste—
mercy or penalty, my right to say.
When the game ended, the rules had not budged.
Orders I give should be begged from the knees.
Centrifugal force preempts my request.
Comfort my journey, I pray from the knees,
me and my loved ones and all of the rest.