After the Curtain Falls, Isabella Speaks in Achromatics

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Dear Isabel, 
I have a motion much imports your good, 
Whereto, if you’ll a willing ear incline, 
What’s mine is yours, and what is yours is mine. 
—Vincentio, Duke of Vienna, Measure for Measure 

What’s yours is yours  
and I am 

{Cool Charcoal Slate} 

/sworn to simplicity  
he ignores my short white veil  
chaplet of beads brown tunic/  

not yours. You’re silver, 

{Nickel} 

tarnished, a self-made  
playwright-god, blocking  
others’ moves. But I’m 

{Platinum Gunmetal Lead} 

/not yet bride  
of christ a nova  
not yet postulant  
awaiting knotted cord  

{Eider Down Whale} 

wimple not yet the serre-tête  
black veil brown habit/  

no actor. Throat open, 

/saint clare sister  
savior patron of laundry  
wash me/ 

{Grey-green Blue-grey Glaucous} 

would-be stage master,  
you will hear me. 

/saint clare  
patron of goldsmiths gild  
my speaking/  

{Metallic Franciscan} 

I’ve already sworn my faith to  

/saint clare patron of television i’m antenna  
to your signal enclose me in ghostly 
calligraphy/  

{Dark Dim Light} 

the One 
you’ve failed to impersonate. 

/saint clare patron  
of needlework stitch me  
a center of winter/ 

You’ve un-haloed unholy  
angels, spared a sinner 
brother’s life. For these mercies  

/saint clare patron of eye  
disease shield these 
orbs from/  

{Fog Goblin} 

melded, my honest  
thanks. But I do not consent  

/saint clare patron of good  
weather blow me always  
january/

{Storm Sleet Jet} 

to your jack-in-a-box  
proposal. When you uncowl,  

/grow me into thorned  
rose my blood 

{Cinereous Ash} 

frost to snow-broth/  

reveal a dull crown, I unveil 
my answer, yank back crushed  
velvet to declare: 

/I hold the Lord— 
and I am held/ 

{Smoke Marengo} 

Wolf. I say No. I say