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It arrived
the way sunshine breaks
through lace curtains:
not as a testament
to the strength of one
or a critique of the assumed
infallibility of the other,
but as a moment
when the walls became less
symbols of imposition
and seemed to acquire
some soulful transliteration.
Discernment takes more
than the recognition of patterns,
although it needs it.
It’s separating distance
from intensity,
knowing that each can
exist without the other, and
that both are subject to faults.
Sometimes the light falters,
the heart trips on the threshold.
Self-forgiveness, then,
is part of the larger image,
of the method of the faltering,
if you will.
Tracing circles,
mandalas of interrupted light,
with petals made of teardrops
and edges that try
to mimic perfection.
And the house receives it,
because the inside welcomes
all sources of illumination.
The windows are covered,
not as an argument against
that need, but because it goes
with the rest of the things,
besides the light,
that it had accepted.

A room filling with imperfect
the rest of me, arriving.
The lace paraphrasing the sun.
The moment putting up no
resistance to the blur
of coming hours that are
designed to contradict it.

“Monica + Drew Toronto Wedding”
by photographer Tara McMullen


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