Our apologies linger unspoken and large
I no longer remember the origin of hurt.
Please tell me
which is the way to forgiveness?
I look out the window, I say “Tree, tell me a secret”.
I am half-poised on the brink of treasure
and don’t know which way to turn.
Water rushes across slate,
carpeting the stones, the colors winking and sly.
Empty is the negative space between joy and song and
I feel safe there, but inside the white noise of my
solitude I miss you. Tell me the way.