Leaving the Bitter

Now.

With the simplest
gesture, rise
from your chair.

And as you rise, let
the raft of wrongs
lose its mooring,
let your tally
of others’ ecstasies
and fortune dangle.

Now let them fall.

Enter into winter’s
frigid air, its stillness.
There is no justice.
There is no rancor.

Just the icicle
that gives itself up
in painless drops,

sky that’s never
been so blue,

and the red cardinal’s
black mask
against the snow.