In a world dipped in, brushed on
In which form does forgiveness appear?
Is it like poetry?
How does it feel? As basic as the sun?
Or the way your hands
rub my shoulders while we face the rainbow
Is it the time you disguised your desire
and looked away
Was it the courage to dip into the waters?
Even though a thunderstorm was coming
Is it when I struggle to tell you everything
But I tell you anyway with a backdrop of the lightning
Is it physical pain
from the restlessness of the mind
Are those the hours, days, weeks we were apart?
Or the way my hands hold and break the bread
and you noticing it, among other things
On the night I depart
Where does it lie?
Whose face is it?
When someone new sweeps in like that lightning?
And all was abandoned
on the terrace at dawn
Does it sound like rhymes on a poem?
And it would finally feel
like the ten clocks on the wall are working
Moving forwards, instead of backwards.