Every Judgment Is a Partial Suicide

Each pronoun is a paraphrase.
Whatever one does, the bright forms
Will go on shining in the dark.

Somehow, that never excuses
Actual actions. It’s too much,
All the monitoring people

Must do, of themselves and others.
It’s too exhausting. No wonder
Your barely sociable mother

Took to monitoring weather.
It was better for her, better
Than her children’s moral failures

Or people who astonished her
With their outrageous behaviors
On the morning talk shows. Better

To channel-surf in search of storms
As she grew older. She never
Could excuse sinners, however,

So long as sins never referred
To her. Somehow they never did.
Paraphrase. Blur. Storms long past her.