Chrysalis

 

 

Slinking out of a plain, unfeeling apathy,

  surely next to be smothered lukewarm—

     But no—breaking open, as from a chrysalis.

And this is the revelation, to be alive.

 

If I was angry, I find instead my grief—

  If I blamed a soul, I now claim myself.

 

      Only God is willing to forgive, I heard—

        Neither them nor I, my own heart hastening

to hold on tight to something unyielding as proof—

     yet brittle as bone. Oh, to find a sanctuary, some place

             where we might not keep selling our souls

                over and over again—the place to unearth

                         a love buried in summer for a winter day.