On retreat after dinner I stumble on
a grove of olive trees with a shrine
The Agony In The Garden.
There he is, our friend, kneeling and praying
eyes heavenward. Across from him a prie-dieu.
Given his circumstances I hesitate
to mention my problem
the grind of regret.
He shows me the toy someone put in his hand
a grinning Guernsey cow
with a shock of red frazzled hair,
and says,
If you want regret
move to the outskirts of God;
be wretched alone
as if escape from
the only Everpresent
were in your power.
Sweetheart, let’s be real
self-pity is an illusion
like rain clouds in ice.
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©️Holy Poetry
Benvenuto di Giovanni, The Agony in the Garden, National Gallery of Art
The Grind of Regret