In ancient Rome, augurs were official diviners,
Their darting eyes interpreting
Omens & the inked stain
Of birds across the sky.
Their job was not to prophecy the future,
But to determine if their new named gods
Approved of an action before it began.

The only way to correctly predict
The future is to pave it,
             Is to brave it.
The breakage is where we begin.
The rupture is for remembering.
That is to say,
Here is where we hold our hurt.
We inaugurate our dreams at the injury.
We consecrate at the cut.
Under a suture of sun,
We sense ourselves stir,
Slowly, sweetly,
As if for the first time.
This nearly tore us apart.
Yes, indeed.
It tears us to start.