what i hold in my palm is not forgiveness, exactly
but my own cracked version of all the ways
i’ve learned to spell

the quest for grace
the call for compassion
the human con(dition)

absolution is not mine to give nor
clemency mine to offer

i can only keep my hand open
mark these trails as map

i no longer need
to know the route

for i stand naked in the rain
of evolution
running rivulets of truth
across a river
laced with anarchy
and stone



A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month. Day 23
I’m participating in NaPoWriMo, and Writer’s Digest Poem a Day Challenge.




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