I cross out so many names
in my little book. They are no more.
but they were already crossed out
by the Lord of Mercies,
the Great Bushwhacker who leaps
from his forest of shadows.
I cross out name after name
in my little book. I feel I am
guilty, deserving of black punishment,
as if there had not first been One
who did what He had done.
Of course I am only a little bookkeeper
verifying ice-hard facts,
signing off on them, as on a decree
that will also be enforced to me
in a future of no perhaps.