A tossed pebble clatter-echoes the cool sacristy.
A test, a little blasphemy, a sort of farewell
to another world’s wreckage and waste.
Every wall of every cell, scratched with
days harrowed, days remaining.
Laughter, when it comes, is unexpectedly easy,
the rictus has not yet spread to every part.
The code can be broken with a hustler’s application,
an observant fragment from where one
lingers behind the weariest shift, tying one’s shoe
as they round the bend and disappear.