Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Offense and Offering

I am the eye plucked out. I nested
your affections on my lips and sent
them rising away. My tongue, a
millstone about my neck,

burns with coals now and
my words are ashes falling
in gray, dull sorrow
on the bruised and heavy knee.

I wash myself in the wool
you set out for me, and empty
my belly but for the bitter
bite of your unheard reply.

I would you were God to hear
my prayer and forgive me now.