I don’t mean to be that person-
That woman
Beyond labels of mistress-
I will long protest
The vagueness of that cloak
And have often found
More shame
In the hiding.

Time will change nothing-
Not a lingering regret
Or pause of mourning-

There’s laughter in
Forgetting-
There’s mourning in the dancing
Of lovers-

And none of it
Ever reaches me.
Like water
Or a sponge-
Or a well
That is safe from being run dry.

There’s promise
And hope
In the sins of man
Because they’ll always be committed again.