Second Chances

At some point I stopped even wanting second chances. Bloodied my knuckles on the world not for justice but so that suffering might continue unabated. Truman and Hito are my brothers, the camp guards at Dachau are my brothers. My god my god why did you forsake me, did you forsake me. 

Sleeping on the couch again, passing each other in the kitchen again, kindness masking the radical healing we neither one of us know how to manage. Wordiness is being, dialogue is being, okay then, what is non-being? Falling to my knees not in prayer or surrender but defeat. Whatever has to end in me Christ let it end in me. Not one more step through this godforsaken valley alone. Please. 

Oh look, there's the moon again. There's the blind horse walking slowly through the pasture again. 

Yet another poem only you know how to read again. 

There are no flowers around here in February. Rosary prayers don't work anymore. The poor stay poor, the rich get rich. The frozen lake groaning at dawn, our tracks all over it like scripture.

This ice, it does not last forever.