The moment arose, less like a siren, than a sunrise
And I, I began to confess

Not to a lover, or a priest, or to the lover of a priest
Instead to a rain soaked stranger sitting beside me
who’s eyes afforded me assurance that my burdens
would find safe harbor upon his shoulders

Though I churned slowly at the start,
like a steam engine, rolling downhill, my pace quickened
As I transitioned from casual transgressions down
the rabbit’s hole, rich with growing shards of truth

His knowing glance, like Santa Claus to a wayward child,
set at ease any concern that time was limited
and so I slowed, rather than rush past some truth
that demanded full accounting
while in him I found familiarity that I could not place

Though his words were few, they were will chosen, marveling at how
matter-of-factly he regarded my menagerie of secrets, sins and lies,
always with a short story, similarly slanted, in the life of someone he once knew

And feeling not the least put off,
I reached asunder and pulled the roots
of the most stubborn weeds and laid them plain upon the bar as he,
accompanied by a cup of tea, relieved them of their tenacity, reconstructing them as sunflowers whose season,
now soaked with light, was yet to come

I shared the deeds I did, for what I misunderstood love to be,
and how far I had fallen from the places I once stood,
at which point he chuckled
drawing sticks on a napkins back
to show me how much higher I was standing
since making peace with my reflection

Yours are the stories of the world he said with tender conviction
The lies you’ve told, the chase for gold the fear of ever getting old

They are but songs in the opus that you’ve just begun to write
And not a single passerby out there in the twilight feels less guilty
They simply have not yet found the courage to look clearly in the mirror as you are now

And like a caretaker, he swept my confessions into a pile,
exposing a small scar, circle shaped on his left hand
as he coaxed, then chided them into the silver light
that reflected off the bar  from the street lamp that stood patiently in the rain

Without a word he tipped his hat and set off on his way,
while the bartender, perhaps in kindness, charged me but for a single tea

The days to come were filled with love
and more wonder than I’d thought there was
as I, unburdened, learned to walk, then to run and fly

And truth be told the stranger had not crossed my mind
until the day a careless step left a peculiar scar so very strange,
circle shaped on my left hand