I know the night is not the same as the day: that all things are different, that the things of the night cannot be explained in the day, because they do not then exist, and the night can be a dreadful time for lonely people once their loneliness has started.
With the dust of Rome
beneath our feet,
I have to say,
we were good and righteous once.
We loved right and
we never spoke our own names in vain.
But like apples that fall from
we, too, learned to stumble
into the wrong prayers.
And the dawning realization
will hit us
that in the end we could have been better people.
We could have created something
good for ourselves
instead of waiting for it.
And never again would we
forget what we were given.
And never again would we unforgive
ourselves for the mistakes
that turned into decisions.
We were made for gardens once,
and my God, we loved what was holy.
If there’s a place
where we can be that way again,
then it has a name that sounds like freedom.
It has a name that sounds like
forgiveness finally coming home.