I love you, my friend, cracks and all, but still
I cannot love the sin that saps your soul.
I hate it with a perfect hate. My will
Engages in the hate, the selfsame goal
That drives my love, drives that hate. The whole
Of my being loves you, for Love must fill
My entire being. We cannot mete and dole
His essence out in coffee spoons. We kill
Love’s fierce vitality, enslaved by shame’s control.
Blind fool that I am, ignoring the bruised reeds,
If I drive my righteous rota-tiller across your soul,
How will I not exterminate what I most love?
Even angelic wisdom cannot take the weeds
Without destroying the wheat, ‘til the final roll
Is called, and all is sorted out above.