Retile my past —
take all those broken squares,
those incomplete perceptions,
those ways I failed to see
the truth of being,
so I can understand
through present windows
that nothing in my life was ever missing
Is not this grace —
what wipes away without a trace
the meted consequence,
all our indebtedness?
— and in its place
reveals the fruit that waits
ready to satisfy
when it is seen.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 2, 2019
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