Lent — day thirty

Offerings litter the ground.
We dropped them,
mostly they slipped by
accident from our pockets
while we danced.
Though, some, we knelt
and fretted over and tore
and gave. No more or less
reverent than the accidents.
Always, we are asking
do you see?
do you love them?
do you love us?
You gather up
our lint and coins,
our paper clips
and apple cores,
some shining things
and drawings.
You treat them as a father does –
with delight and not pity.
We are the ones you’ve made
to not see,
to not love,
is to cease being.

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