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