You walked a golden path and I
was in front beating the bushes for
hidden dangers, eyes darting left
and right, a force field of high alert
with the tingle of anticipation
stiffening my spine.
Behind, your face radiated the
beatific smile of the innocent ignorant,
the birthright of The Golden, of the ones
who know nothing of terror, spite or shame,
but see only through eyes of sunlight.
At the end, we were both too blind —
I by suspicion,
you by trust —
to see the tip of a cloven hoof
at the bottom of the door.