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Poetry

Lord of the hopeless also dear     Hat-Soak

Pole-in-the-Canal and Red-Tie Father     Son

And Holy Ghost not     in that order break

The rottenness of those who torture one

Of Thy least wrath-deserving exiles me

Not     wholly undeserving     no     but some

And isn’t it the some that counts with Thee

O     Gondola also as the trees pass warm

Overhead I     can close my eyes and they

Are almost not     burning and this is any

River to the sea O     Lord I do not say

Release me call me home forgive my many

Sins I say Lord forgive my torturers

Who hate my faults     as if my faults were theirs


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