Following an assault, in the dentist’s chair, fire splayed, fraying my face, forcing it, to reform. I wish not to speak, of myself, at length, and I may wish, to learn, of you. Yet you spew upon me, a mangled expression, unaware. You mistook my fledgling patience, for weakness. The space of summer, may have given, rise, to rebirth, alongside guilt, over an infraction, perhaps long passed. Though I am tempted, there is no value, in comparing, those committed, to contemplation, to we, with lawns, we forgetfully, mow. At 80, his insight, and confidence, coalesced; and he cooks for his wife, and walks the neighborhood, exuding joy, and respect, whiff of weed, on his breath.