The King of Cups
is sometimes uneasy
with his responsibility.
He
serves as pastor,
keeps a shop,
writes poems
no one asks for.
He
aches at every infidelity—
small thefts,
insults like papercuts,
teeth knocked loose
in bar fights.
He
speaks of forgiveness
as if it were a practice.
He
offers his hand
too quickly.
And I don’t know why,
but I distrust him
