i can confess now that i think
about it far too often; my patience,
the summer heat that sticks to us
so far apart. i can confess that i often
wonder if karma is real and if god
is vengeful; does he slash through
my wants like brushing aside winter
snow when we were so far from
each other? or does he want and
ask and plead just as i do? i can
confess now that i have been prone
to blasphemy, and the season peaks
and wears thin, and i think and wonder
now too often what will happen in that
same quiet room, that same hallowed
rain, that same quiet dark, that same karma
that bites now because it feels good