Hidden

         The law of the Lord is perfect, reviving the soul.
         But who can detect their errors?
         Clear me from hidden faults.
                  —Psalm 19.7,12

               
The fracture runs deep beneath my garden.
A wounded man lives deep inside the apple tree,
murmuring its strange fruits.
I leave my tangled guts to their own ways.
I do not realize the knot is killing me.

The saints are no better,
they just stand still long enough
to climb out of the mirror.

There is this gift:
I can rise in darkness and sit until daylight.
I enter a light not my own
and see what I had not seen.
For this dreadful vision I give thanks,
and for courage to keep my eyes open.

And for this, that in that darkness
that remains dark to me, a light shines
unseen, and it is dark no more.

The pilgrim walks carefully,
clear that they don't know
what they've been entirely forgiven for.
 

   —February 26, 2018