Please Forgive

You are far, so far from this desk, this notebook, this pen in my hand, which swiftly, word by word, drives over the blue lines on the stage like a newborn in a basket woven of reeds on the bed of a river, winding, muddy, roaring. Was there any way but this? Or is there a way? I would have traveled it if you had told me and if I had known... Now the blackness of a rope winds around the basket, is it a snake or a crocodile’s tail? A heap of useless debris clings to the side of the basket, a passing barrier? Or perhaps a steadfast trap? Word by word I wrap my newborn in swaddling of tears. Will it become invulnerable? With these purest of coverings woven in the heart of love? And will you forgive the stains of storms upon my weaving? I shed tears and drive the basket with the oars of my fingers along the course of this river, this only way in my eyes to the place before your steps...