two thousand years
we seem to have got it wrong—the cherished
one century becomes
anathema to the next. This god
someone immeasurably greater
than we might conceive, who does not need
apologetics and leaves us just
the truth that we can bear;
brooding contradictions are our guides
through the doorway of salvation,
somewhere out of time the whole
unjust distribution of resources
safely gathered up—Tessa once said
the plural of paradox must be paradise.
These brooding contradictions The paradoxes described in the earlier sonnets.