Repentance

A Poem

The transgression departs like an iceberg off the stern
its mark, dark-stained scratched
across the wronged
across the World
across our foreheads.

With this coal miner’s lamp
we grovel, grimy, swaying light
through the tunnels of our time, our misery.

Fixed by that bright spot
sounding
our leprosy before it is revealed:
“Unclean am I!”
We huff and heave the load ahead
with words seen, then heard:
"Out out damn light!"

Through that mark on our crown
seen, heard,
in that tenable light, the headlamp 
diminished but throbbing
we send scrolls with flying horsemen where we can.