High up here, with the wind’s whisper willing to me to fly
and no attendant angels there to catch me.
No hope of Heaven now with him,
whom they will say I simply sold for silver.

“One of you,” he said. I stood. Send me, I thought,
instead of him, the heavy-handed hot-head; instead of her,
who loves you most, who’s closest to your blood and body.
Let me be nearest to you at the end.

My end is here, hopeless, roped onto a shaking gallows tree.
I fail to see. I fall. I feel the branches break my. I –