White Noise

1 June 2016

and where is the point
at which penance comes knees bent
with your name as absolution on its tongue

we can only hope for something that
knows, perhaps when we do not:
the taste of clemency
when the sentence is done

something familiar and new all at once
that tempts us, shows us
these seams are easily undone
that ink is the hangman with a forgiving noose

each one of us is born sensible
his heart incensed then falling

we know the white space left
for our open mouthed cry
then the slow babble of delight

but now and then we forget
here is the point
a place to reckon with

where beneath a crown heavy with words
is a seat of acacia and hawthorn
to say choose carefully the weight
of each syllable upon the tongue

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