I collect people

afraid they are evil
like Infinity Stones
disguised as ordinary rocks.
Extraordinary,
though found by accident.
 
Perhaps it is instinct.
I pluck them from the water
because I have forgiven
more than I should.
I have smoothed souls
that shattered mine.
My fingers miss the motion.
 
I have looked in the face of use
and I still do not know evil.
I suspect it does not exist.
But I have apologized
for wrinkles made
by asking to be whole,
so I feel I can say with confidence:
 
My friends,
you have no need of forgiveness.
When I call you extraordinary,
I do not mean your potential.
We are all infinite.
We can all choose to obliterate or repair.
 
And you, my extraordinary friends?
What you could do does not matter.
When you snap your fingers,
you put my spirit back together.