The Grind of Regret

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