Friday, June 7, 2013

This Broken Song

How I miss you. Are you reading this? Would you tell me?

It rains. The trails blur. Tracks of the one I follow grow muddy and faint.

What is the meaning of forgiveness now? Why do we insist on logistics when all that we want is to be loved?

There are lakes that exist only because we dreamed them together. In my dream you told me stories - in a language I didn't know I knew - while I leaned against your warm shoulder. What clarity you brought! And how tired I am, how hungry for sleep.

And yet . . .

How deep the solitude goes, how lonely one becomes without . . . . what? What facet of Christ now beckons? What kiss is sufficient in the difficult extremes of silence?

For you the bluets. For you the baby bears.

For you this cry, this broken song. Reach me in the old way, show me where your heart beats, where once - so sweetly, so briefly - I was home.

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