The Briefest of Reprieves 

We are free now. Taller, wiser
than the myths of childhood.
Gone, the sins we held like stones. 

We touch our chests with the shape
of the crossroads. We begin to forget
the singe of shadow on our foreheads. 

Look around. No higher beings here.
No devil to touch us like a whirlwind.
No angels turning in the sky like bells.

But freedom leaves a hole. Do we miss
the pleasure of an undertow, the hiss
of demon in the foaming wave? 

Do we want a cave where we run deeper in,
twisting like the shadows on the walls?
In dream, most of us call fear or wonder home.