I imagine Purgatory to be
a purification not by fire, but by tears –
that being the proper response
to all our failures to love
I imagine Purgatory to be
a purification not by fire, but by tears –
that being the proper response
to all our failures to love
And rockets and bombs
Oh why, human heart
do you sleep on the floor?
Hey, you’re still standing aren’t you?
You’re still trying?
Maybe this was the real work, the
elbow-bent nighttime writing,
mapping the river that pierces the wood
Raven shakes needles on our table.
Cedars and starfish.
The squirrel won’t leave but he does.
You just have to let God do it through you
Give me the eyes of the heart
To the lines
that set up the line
that everyone remembers
To set their traps