Day after day The sun high The land dry I come to the well Empty

O, Jesus, my Savior and dearest friend, My companion in this season of sorrow, Wilt Thou walk beside me in the solitude Of my silent, aching heart? Wilt Thou hold my grief in Thy warm, strong hand? Hast Thou heard my sore lament?

O, Jehovah, Thou Son of God, let my praise to Thee be found on my lips. Allow my tears to wash Thy feet, accept my offering and let Thy will eclipse.

A dissonant tune twinned to plaintive words can live and spread like aspen roots, binding generations.

I hear Him In the gentle breeze Of leaves Half-flushed With green and gold.

For beloved bits of earth burrowed into my soul–– diamond-cold creek, edged with yarrow and thimbleberry; jagged canyon sheltered

r mercy is a deep river. Wash the pettiness from me and wring me out to dry.

When I was a child I didn’t spell things right And I thought the Son of God was actually the Sun of God So every time I looked at the sun I thought I was looking at Jesus

Lines of heart and mind silken invisible but tensile and tough Even when I severed some myself I could feel the tug Someone on the other end who hadn’t wouldn’t let go

he showed Her Son how to mother, so He could show the world.

Mother pricked her finger And so we all fell asleep Dreamily waiting for the Prince’s kiss. Sometimes dreams feel too real We forget that this isn’t where we came from We forget that we are sleeping But one day we will open our eyes again We will see His face

Beholding the magnitude of your Grace, Enoch cried “thou art there. ”Let me remember, Lord: Thou art there. Let me be comforted. Let me lift up my heart and be glad. Let me remember: You stopped for the woman in the crowd. She, bleeding and forgotten. You stopped to give of your very virtue. Let me stop and give of my self. In your Holiness, you washed their feet.

The river gushes down my face Tears twist and turn Dodging knuckles Pressed against my cheeks I peek between finger slivers And cloudy pools Seeing a hydra ocean surge

We love to talk about the rain that makes a garden grow—dismiss the dung that drives it from below. We celebrate the sun in its sublime ability—forget the flies and fungus feeding this fertility. Wrinkle our eyes when we talk about flies. Turn away from decay.

If I could write a sonnet to help thee gather me in; it would embrace the noblest words—etched in fine detail— upon some passing stone.

If I am a garden, then he holds the hose Gives life to me and to all those that bloom Immerses me the water as John once did Tells me the hose won’t run dry

No head need I but Jesus Christ My Savior, Lord, and King For through His loving sacrifice Salvation He does bring He lives, my Savior of my soul He fills my soul with light He, the light of this great world Dispels the dark of night

Just and unjust step we onwards, wise men. Endless night around us and our chosen, Shifting course. Alone we face the frozen Umbra, sure we’re ever fallen again.

You ask me to come unto thee You ask to make my burdens light You ask me to place it all on your alter

All rise, the Eternal Judges enter God the Parents take Their throne I tremble, I kneel, I cry at Their Glory Their might and majesty beam I hide behind Christ’s robes