Every evening the night forgives the day its sins
and the day sleeps cradled and dreamless;
and each morning the day forgives the night
even its darkest corners of trespass
and the night wanders on dreams of light and wind.
This is the secret of the workings of the world
first seed planted in the primordial deep
first lesson of the divine when it stepped
out of itself onto the slick, dark lid
of otherness.
Today I crack that seed open with my teeth
my heart dividing like dry earth
suddenly seeped through with muddy everything: ocean
and birdsong and things like loss and love that creep,
the world wet and new as in the first days of creation.
Today I forgive the parts of myself that did not grow,
the parts already lain to rest,
I forgive the One who counted to a billion and then forgot to seek
and I forgive my heart its hardest and its softest ways
wound after wound reveals and I forgive them all
until I feel myself empty at the end of the day, sleek,
held between two lights that love each other well.

Yiskah Rosenfeld teaches workshops in Jewish text, ritual, and creativity in the San Francisco Bay Area.