I will hang my head at the judgment seat.
Not because I regret transgressions
or committed crimes.
My sins have been for the most part banal.
I don’t have a wicked impulse in my body.
Just ignorance, self-love,
indifference to etiquette.
I will hang my head for other reasons.
For sadness.
For rusty rifles on a battlefield.
For children destined to be old
and thrown away.
For the hour that used itself up
before it was done.
Before the day completed itself
and no treasure was left at the end.
I will hang my head
because of my conditional gratitude.
My anger at death,
at sorrow,
at harms way.
Things breaking,
lack of faith.
My refusal to stop asking why.
And not saying thank you often enough.
And I will hang my head
because I am afraid.
Ashamed of my fear at not being loved.
Looked at.
Valued.
Worth a scolding,
and not having a song it took
a lifetime to compose.
A picture with all the world’s colors,
a poem with every word worth saying,
not having wounds received in passion,
only the unmarred expression of the
heartless and their sterile purity.