One spring among our first of thirteen years
When we were new and no one dreamt of pain,
Forgiveness, not foreseeing any tears
Took its inheritance and left. The strain
Of living face to face without a touch
From time to time of unadorned acquittal
In several years would grow to be too much
To stand. Where problems once had been too little
To dwell upon, they crystallized, and massed
Till everywhere infractions joined, and hardened
Surrounding everything, and held us fast
Each morning face to face again, unpardoned
From yesterday, and yesterday, and on.
Till all the hope we started with was gone.
Now having smashed it all and gone to madness
And back again, and picking up the shells
Of hope from a receding tide of sadness,
We wait. Our inexperience compels
An ordinary patience while we burn
For prodigal Forgiveness to return.