grace

you read their disappointment
in words that betray distance.
years of love come undone
in a moment that demanded more
but customarily missed its due.
who will take it upon them now
to believe in myths of redemption?
Did the phoenix leave a message,
somewhere in the universe for you to find?
Can a faith lost recover in absence?

Where do you even begin.

With an apology, some say.
You start growing an apology tree.
The deepest of injustices,
the sorest of pains, the clenched fist
that is the heart will all be poured
into this tree that is but a seed
not of discontent, nor regret,
not yet hope, but is borne of fire,
of tears, of guilt that ransacks
sleep, of an ache that wrings
consciousness, of silence that
accuses itself over and over.
in time, perhaps,
there will be a peace offering.
Until then, take your place.
at the millstone, and see
what comes of this churning.

To those who have been hurt
by your inertia, may they find peace
in the path they tread.

To you, may you never reach that road.
Let the world root for the millstone.