Introit

Only now can I voice my story.
Time's slow beneficence
has filled the room of my life
with warm spring light,
intimations of endings…
What garment shall I wear
to tell the tale? None of those
three magical dresses —
burnished as sunlight, blue
as the stars, moon-silver —
folded inside a walnut
grooved with ancient dust.
This plain shift I'll wear,
wrapped in my cloak of many furs.