two of the birch trees have got
their tops loose from the snow and
have risen into the air like monsters
awakening with feelers: they lean
and reach for higher air: if a front
comes and the wind jacks them up,
lifting and catching them up, then
they may be restored to a new
tranquility of poise: this is the
rising of the burden-bent, you know;
the realm of the playful, overseeing
heights: let our heavy emotions
become such tickles way up: is it
the same, being guilty and sinning;
then we are sinners: we trust that
in understanding and forgiving,
or really trying to forgive, the sins
of others, we may understand and
come as close as possible to forgiving
our own: but as with all verdicts
there’s something more to it:
verdicts are fences in fields where
lava flows