understanding,
wouldn't
nothing
seem unjust?
Wouldn't past events
and sins acquit us,
and tenacious tendrils
lose their grip?
And if so,
wouldn't the true
extent of it
seem suddenly choosy,
and mean,
and irrelevant? And,
without such stiff analysis
cinching us like dirt,
wouldn't all
assurance erode
from beneath us?
Wouldn't our most
precious roots
start to rip?
