if i could forgive you
for each word spoken,
each leaf fallen,
each song
                  unwritten
perhaps i could again unfold -
      upwards
 through frost and the
hard, dry deaths of last autumn,
each finger and breath unfolding
like so many forgotten treasures.

then the newest hymn would rise,
each cadence measured yet boundless,
rising through each morning as an
unheard reminder of
                                   spring.
this would be our triumph, our
    everlasting return,
from worlds cramped and cold
and without air.

and yet.
               and yet.
would each pleasure fall short,
each victory ring hollow?
yesterday's sins do not fly;
each anchors to a weary heart
and slowly pulls it down.

10/20/2004

Posted on 10/20/2007
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