measured correspondence from a balustrade made of baubles

I have seen what no regrets looks like
it is only the acclimation of fools
it is not weathered or strong
it is not rich or sweet

For regret is a tool of the fixed currency to raise the bar
on the measure of how we continue to balance our motion
within the good graces of the days left until we lay for sowing

Regret leaves open the wound of endurance that kneels
with precision and allayed laces, tourniquets abandoned
allowing tension and mass to take the blame, consumed
gross negligence of our abducted thoroughfares, grown,
oath-tested, under the insulted new allegiances of time spent