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