I knew her
when she was,
at first,
all shell, all rind —
no, harder; 

steel hull,
bunker, castle —

I knew her
when it was hard to
know her at all.

Years later
we meet and
she’s 
split open — 

as she is now
she’s more of
a bare nut,
a ripe fruit,
a sweet
without armor.

I liked her better
the other way;

I liked me better
when I had to know her
the other way.

Bright painting
of a deity,
offerings of simple food,
small change,
red candles
to coax peace and fortune
from wherever they shelter,
to feed them, light their way,
invite them to stay;

a space as gentle
as a cathedral
is smothering;
as open to living
as a cathedral is
closed to natural order;
as intimate
as a cathedral is
hugely impersonal.