by M. L. Liebler
If I know my angels，
I know what they would say
——Joe Henry
He came to me
In a whisky-blue dream
In midtown Manhattan.
He wasn't angry anymore.
He seemed happy to find
Me again， my old self.
Picking up his ghost guitar，
He played me a new song.
He played it sweet and innocent.
As if he were the world's only child，
His whole future ahead，
No pain hidden in that past.
In some undeserved way， I felt
As though he had forgiven me
For the hurtfulness of my words.
His kindness to me was more
Genuine than all of my love could
Ever have been toward him.
In my dream， I found myself running
Back and forth in search of forgiveness，
In search of something greater.
But each time I was returned
To wander out my sin in prayer——
The sleepless turmoil of my penance
Revealed and served
If I know my angels，
I know what they would say
——Joe Henry
He came to me
In a whisky-blue dream
In midtown Manhattan.
He wasn't angry anymore.
He seemed happy to find
Me again， my old self.
Picking up his ghost guitar，
He played me a new song.
He played it sweet and innocent.
As if he were the world's only child，
His whole future ahead，
No pain hidden in that past.
In some undeserved way， I felt
As though he had forgiven me
For the hurtfulness of my words.
His kindness to me was more
Genuine than all of my love could
Ever have been toward him.
In my dream， I found myself running
Back and forth in search of forgiveness，
In search of something greater.
But each time I was returned
To wander out my sin in prayer——
The sleepless turmoil of my penance
Revealed and served