Using little gidding

I could start my own direction coming, thru Eliot’s

Poem, insert my defiant spirit in, begin it’s torture,

Madness, public shame, rape,  death-infused in bones,

Travels, but become – you, sitting at a desk, across from

And you could start from your guilt, over

What you’ve done, for whatever guilty reason for,

It matters little either direction come, but ends us sitting,

Looking, across a desk, at each other, there seeing

The same as the beginning, the end of being, to simply love, and nothing more,

But us two gazing at each other, and Love, watching over