The making right
What must remain wrong
Even when fixed
And forgotten.
O all you murderers
Of those who hurt your feelings
How you are forgiven,
Sent so much love
For being wrong,
Wrong, and therefore innocent,
That quality we think redeems us
When it is the other way,
Our guilt that follows us
All the way
To the most beautiful blue canal
In the most inaccessible port,
With nothing but sea
To show for the city,
What it tried but could never become.
