Confession of Confusion

Every time I said “flowers” he thought I meant “sex.”
When he said “mouth” I thought “ears”. When he described sands
I saw him dragging, like a heavy ghost, his hands
and feet through a stinging wind with no ill effects,
sinking into someone else’s story. Perplex
me, that’s fine; tell me truths half-lie of wedding bands
fragile as dried seaweed, all those children unplanned,
duties dissolved into dust, blown away as specks.
Ask me if I’m alright. I always am; you’ve known.
There is a logic to arrivals, departures,
beginnings and ends. Really! Ask any juries
told to decide the case on evidence alone.
Best available evidence, says the doctor.
The priest? “… te absolvo a peccatis tuis.”