I am arriving where I can say, “I see

some sense to my life.”  The past 

making sense in ways that only

time reveals.  The vision a reward,

the reward unabashed in what it gives.

The sense of right and wrong the trail

of a snake leading out through  

some eastern gate of a paradise that 

doesn’t exist.  A tolerance I would not 

have given myself ten years ago.

I am ambiguous about the word “regret.”

I’ve had a few utterly true and useful.

I know how moments were fulcrums

opening and closing doors I could not,

like Psyche needing help to overcome 

the tasks Aphrodite had given her.

Now, I see my misinterpretations,

see now what I was blind to,

no longer hearing “this is this and

that is that” that echo forming a harmony.

Something like forgiveness enters,

some alchemical transformation 

changing ignorance into knowledge,

the promise of the beginning of wisdom – 

possibly next year – when I turn seventy-two.