I’ve never more than reached for you--and so,Anyone whom you forgive, I also forgive. What I have forgiven, if I have forgiven anything, has been for your sake in the presence of Christ.
despite your openness, despite your close
proximity, I pull my hand away
again--for who am I if I am not
the one who gropes for you? (Fulfillment fears.)
If unperfected life’s no recompense,
it is, perhaps, the birthpangs of the song
of saints: When I am weak, then I am strong.
So please accept my vapid hesitance
to hold you prepossessingly when tears
I hide from you may prove the fuller lot
I claim today (and yet, my yearnings pray
sincerely for the ends of all morose
anxieties that stunt my reach to grow).
