Compassion

Your insistence on being right

saddens me, not because you

are wrong, but because

ancient wounds

still bleed when touched --

some wounds are like that -

the ones which severed a

part of you you thought was

sacred,

before you discovered that

every part of you, of each of

us, is holy and blessed and to

be endlessly cherished.

Lay down your head my love

and let my fingers stroke

your brow, even though I am

unsure if I can staunch the

wounds or soothe your

heart