I’ll not number your wrongs against mine
measured in sterile clicks of abaci
some might call forgiveness
this walking away
from counting everything
Instead of seeing
a deep weariness of keeping track
and surrender to the weight of each
colored glass bead
no longer strung and framed, but freed
and falling in a rainbowed hail
to spread over everything
no longer reigned in.
I do love your poetry. I imagine that freeing oneself from this counting leaves everyone better off!
Ah, I love this, going outside the usual frame of our thoughts, emotions, behaviors, the freeing sensation of forgiveness, the rainbowed spreading. Lovely!