Won’t Turn to Stone

My criminal act concealed
for now we roam beneath bare
branches. Follow the river down

for a radical blossoming
before another cyclone wrecked
hillside. Sneezes for no reason—

there’s never a reason
to be so coy. Forgiveness begins
at the head of the falls.


All exits are emergency
escapes from moments
that have died.
Write tiny epitaphs

for each and be accused
of living in the past. Without
them there would be
no future. The time has come

to forgive
our younger selves.