You were told
once and then again
that there are no rules
to this art and
shortly after were scolded
about how many rules you
were breaking
They knocked you down and
made it hard to continue through
all those ghost rules that
were not to be found in one book
but were engraved instead upon the panes
of a henge of glass
Some you saw through and slipped past
while others cut you and some
were long broken but still standing
In the end you saw in them
what you needed and (as you
should do with any sacred space) you
gave of your blood and walked away
having changed it and
yourself by seeing
how the edges of the rules
were the center of the path through
