Small Sins

      When I fast I shouldn't savor
snowflakes on my tongue
or the scent of mown grass,
the breeze through roses or
an apple-wood fire, for these
treats I consume as though food—
I am guilty of such gluttony,

      and of idolatry, for the sun,
heavy on my face and arms
when I am ill, is a force of joy,
and the rain awaking me
from bad dreams a shushing
angel, and the wind rising
to roar at a storm's height

      more lovely than a stale hymn.
And I covet the hummingbird's
delicate perfection, and recently
I told a lie—calling in sick
to spend the day with my wife
at Padilla Bay, watching blue
herons until dusk & eating fudge.

Copyright © 2002 Fernand Roqueplan All rights reserved
from Crab Creek Review, Spring/Summer 2002
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission