EVIDENCE

I have a
duty
to name
you.

Vandal.

"Are you
so
sure?" they
ask. Yes, there
is
testimony.

Not thief.

No, that's
a softer
crime. The
stealing of a
heart
can be dealt with.

One can be loudly
aggrieved, put in
a claim, have
it returned, or even
decide to
live
without
it.

But there is
testimony.

We know
that
you
have entered
chambers
of the soul
in many houses,
one
after
another,
not
taking
--especially
not taking,
in any case not
keeping--
but leaving
as vandals do
leaving
each place with
its purpose
used
for
other
things,
leaving
a litter
of images,
of longing
carved
like
graffitti
in the
spirit.

There is testimony.

Your passing
through
is always
marked by
some twisting,
things left
askew, tattered
for
some
strange
profit
of your own.

There are
exten-
uating circumstances.
It may be
true that this
is carelessness,
not contrived.

You don't break
glass
simply to
hear it
crash, but
are
more like
a camper
in a forest who
has rested
in its
intimacy and
then
leaves
the breakfast
wrapper from
the breads
or the small
empty can

of juice--things
one needs, surely
to go
on--leaves
them to
insult
this
area
of succor,
to say, "I
don't think
you were so
special
in your
original
state; this
won't
make any
difference
and if
it does
I don't
care."

True, damage
gets repaired.
Some things
grow again
as if the
violent cracking off
stamping down
were temporary,
simply a bad season,
knowing there is
a future.

Other things
do not.
Giving
often
gets trampled

beyond the
fixing.

Vandal.
There is testimony.

From us-
the approachable,
unguarded
ones,
the ones
not made from
materials
especially
developed
to
prevent
the
holding back.

No, we are not
always
undone.

But you
have never
left
our
readi-
ness in
the
condition
you found
it.
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