I used to think of mercy
as something stolid.
Somber.
A decree handed down by a judge
with judgment still hanging
in the eaves.
Until I stood on the banks
of the Merced
and beheld the wild torrent:
rushing
leaping
foaming
sparkling in the sun
racing with power
no judgment
no stolidity
no solemnity
wild beyond reason
wild beyond hope
wild with love
love as a force
love as a power
love untamed
judgment washed away
only the mercy remains
singing
dancing
living
in the sun.
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