Just as a drop, and another.
Driblet and a stream.
A river, and a waterfall.
Back to the sea.
So does forgiveness cry,
its first teardrop.
Salt of life.
Salt of life.
On hands or lips?
“Forgive yourself,
no, you can’t forgive yourself,
but you can forgive others,”
all is said.
But forgiveness
does not proscribe.
It embodies all.
A blanket,
and a ground.
To forgive one,
is to forgive all.
Begin.