You will lay aside your suspicions of me.
Slide the doormat over your back,
be still.
I turn silver coin accusation
between my finger tips
and flip.
The great crime, I ask you,
a civil war inside me,
or you?
My innocence is like this!
Your guilt is a private loss,
but the way you droop confidence
downward, as if the ground
will forgive you,
shows my victory,
and in my voice, forgiveness,
but my gut smirks.
I am a temple of construction.
maggiemaeijustsaythis 