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The Keepers

A.D. 1329

We made a pact. Close your eyes
And remember it in the cloud-studded
Blue of your soul. You can see us
As we were then, the coarse
Homespun wool of your smock,
The pantaloons and sash. The coarser
Cut of my one good garment in strips

Like the pulled-apart gauze
Of a martyr. I would do it
Again, I would suffer the merciless,
Ring-bearing thumb of the manor-lord
Who found us outside Lyon, site
Of the great fair: the conical tent
And colorful, triangular banner

A lineage in the woods. Of course
We had to die. You belonged to another
And were thankful for the week
Fate had given us, the morning
Without work and the twilight
Without pain. You did not flinch
When they tore the cloth from your body

Like a sculpture. I had to watch
You go before me. Even the vassal
With his innate ken for genetics
Could not unravel the pact.
We sealed it where no one would
Look: between the fifth and sixth
Chromosomes of the heart.

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