Post-epithalamion

So long ago I crossed the threshold,
stepped through the gate and felt
unsure of what I’d chosen—

The neighbor’s wife had given me
a spray of white cattleya:
I could not see nor hear

the speckled warnings
crimsoning their throats
(like sex, unfurling)—

As with all things, it takes
a passing through to come
to any understanding; now

it seems possible that fear
can be undone, when finally it
turns into a kind of discerning—

In response to Via Negativa: Under the gun.