Test me, O Lord, and try me.
Psalm 26:2

In each promise of faithfulness, traces
of countless betrayals: averted eyes,

a voice’s tremor. Like the air we breathe
or the glances we exchange with strangers

on strobe-lit dance floors, we test positive
for impurity. But do not expect

a list of lurid details in these lines;
I am neither Catholic nor Lowell nor Plath.

I am merely – how does the song go? – “prone
to wander.” So have we any chance,

this side of heaven, at a constant heart?
Or even modest progress toward that end?

The word’s out: love covers a multitude
of sins. Is this the best we can hope for?

COMMENTS

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