Renunciation

I let go of blame.

After the roar of being Right

echoed from ruined factories,

from the stairways

of shivering skyscrapers,

frightening the ferns

in their windows,

scaring small furry mammals

back into asphalt crevices,

driving the mushrooms down
into ancient grottoes
between knuckles of ivy root;
after the crack and peel
of my judgment

left the shook planet

even angrier,
I let go of blame.

Gave up accusing
the left or the right,
the Muslim or the Jew,
the housed, the unhoused,
and the Lovers, those
playful ones who ought
to be more furious!

Then I began the work

of weeping,
the work of grief,
encircling the world
in a single tear,
letting it roll ever
so silently down
my cheek.

How it falls
and falls!

How it bedews a violet

in a patch of weeds.

I tell you, this teardrop
will nourish the earth
for a thousand years.


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