Proven enough?

was yesterday not meant
for us to sell our scent to dogs
who’d trace the fearful logs
that slow our tongues like bogs in march?
don’t we owe ourselves starch,
and memories that parch and call
us by our own names that fall
skywards with no brick wall to shield?
is it a must to yield?
why must the one that healed be torched
just to prove that the scorched
hold the light that are clutched in clocks.

Younglan Talyoung