9 March 2008, 7:35 PM
this will never be easy.
I realize as I speak the words
there is no one to whom I may speak,
of my own volition,
The one in whose debt I will always remain,
and who will always be indebted to me—
I cannot forgive him—
is an icon of fallenness, as am I,
whether or not he is capable of understanding.
How could he fail to know
when Paschal hymns ring through the Nave
and the mother of his son is not beside him,
nor would he have me there?
He is more whole for my absence, and I, for his.
That is nettle enough in both our sides
to steal the fullness of joy away,
that if we could have our way,
the other would not exist.
He is an icon, as am I— a picture
of the depth to which we fall in striving to mend
bridges we could not but tear asunder.
Futile the attempt— we cannot put right
what we could not help breaking.
We can only say “God forgives”—
only He can, only He does, only He has space
to pass or alleviate judgment.