When You're Old (II)
You begin to forget, and that is
you forgiving yourself for each
hurt you've carried, contraband
smuggled from the past.
It wasn't illegal, but it was wrong,
a sin against your self
to take those black cutting gifts
and cherish them so long.
With time and distance you begin
to place the wrongs in their graves.
Each unmarked and unhallowed offense
now lies undisturbed.
Each new dawn breaks like
a communion wafer, a bright tarot,
a prayer flag, a signal bell
calling you forward.