original pardon

Yet here we are again,
out of the house of our
undoing: tragedies, doubts,

ardent fumes of curses
reeking off our mouths.
Each of us claims a virtue

like no other, like furtive
oysters birthing pearls,
varying in shades and sizes.

Eventually, this has to be
done. It seems there’s no use
jumping to conclusions now

(i.e. believing gold is ripe in
reverence, grey is the hue
of our whispers in bed).

Come to think of it, forgive.
Earth can never be too vast,
alone, and globular for our liking,

zebra’s hide too insipid. Let us
argue no more, the quiet word
remains the wisest sometimes.

Just take for example the mute
unlocking stresses of streets, of
names of all people he knew.

Signs are everywhere if we
allow ourselves to see them:
You might see a clear sky today,

I might see a promise tomorrow.
Days and nights will be cold
only if our hands are held apart.


[ this is for you and you alone ]