Forgiveness, You Are a Winter
by Ciaran Pierce

Runestone, volume 10

There was the loving & its aftermath,
the two woodsmen who made a bed out
of moon-eaten drapes, who wore out
the softest parts they could find
in the body, then ended with
choked sobs—right there
on the forest floor.

Story goes they turned
spit into ink, skin into paper.

Gave up on gentleness.

Blamed finishing on God.

And when both were still & bruised
like fallen fruit, they mouthed,
forgive me, forgive me—these words
the language of dust

Forgive me
and if not me, then the snow,
which forgave the elk’s tracks
by falling

And if not the snow, then my skin,
which forgave your kisses
by erasing them
before the sun could rise
and show them
to the hunters