the hanged man

crossroads_micro_poem
Blow me a kiss
and demonstrate which of the four
you’ve chosen
I’ll bide until this rope stops turning
faithless lover
but what you stole I minded most
becalmed now
Westward your face hangs agape
watch a traitor
dwindle to the horizon – free from guilt

Note:
Gibbets were often placed at cross roads “pour encourager les autres”

In ten lines or less for the Sunday mini: The Crossroads