I Apologize

Oh the fragrance—our angst; and oh the pain—our gripes.

How have I hurt them, blinded with anger, cursing foxes, ever

intimidated? I’ve challenged design, semi-crooked, reaching

for a new life. And there they sit, Spirit-filled, mourning

my presence. I’ve thought of them sorely, begging God to

speak, ever in silence. I can’t imagine a woman’s rage, fraught

with grace, dancing in the shadows. And yes I was wrong,

running from Scripture; and yes I see, gripping a tunic. I ask

not forgiveness, but merely peace, for a soul is grieving, and

praying God. I remember hostility, a sense of pride, and a

push forward, fleeing into the night. And I see reflection, a

pivot arcade, repeating a broken screen. How do we part

faith, both bread and wine? In truth, how do we mix temperaments?

Such rhetoric; and such rain; where a mind screams: “He was

wrong.” And yes I see, ever at battle, sickle to soul.