Book Karma Dreams

I dream.
I dream of his face.
I dream of the blood
that trickled in his eyes.
I dream of the crowd,
the way they cried
for his destruction.
I dream of my own
reluctance to disagree
with the mob.
I dream.
I dream of my hands.
I dream of the bowl
that contains the water
of my sins.
I never emptied that bowl.
My dreams are filled.
Filled with certainty.
His life was not the only
life I washed away
that day.
My decision killed him.
I killed him.
My life is forfeit.
Perhaps also my soul.
Perhaps he will forgive.
It was all
part of his plan.
What choice, then, did I have?
Perhaps he will forgive.
My sleep is fitful now.
Never peaceful.
I am dying.
Remember me Lord,
as I remember you,
and forgive.