from my mouth when I see you, that lets
me look at you, and hold you close in all
your hateful things you wrought and spent.
a battle: I will not say the things I think
to say. Here, at first sight it is hate,
not grace, but of grace I choose to drink.
I choose to not explode. I choose to wait.
and in the quiet mastery of my will
I am crying, aware how close I was
to destroying, yet may reach it still,
but for mercy falling upon us.
I am thirsty, always, under everything,
I thirst for justice, but really, for mercy.
for bishop desmond tutu
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