Cradle yourself,

Weep like a child

In the face of eternity.

What sins are you carrying

In your cow bag?

Take them out

One by one.

Place them on this stone

In the bright sun

So I can examine them closer.

“They will dry out,” I protest.

I laugh, “What’s the worry?

Are you trying to keep them forever?”

I pull back and hide

The bag behind my back.

“I am not ready to share my story.”