Sabbath poetry




For we are fallen like the trees, our peace
Broken, and so we must
Love where we cannot trust,
Trust where we cannot know,
And must await the wayward-coming grace
That joins living and dead,
Taking us where we would not go--
Into the boundless dark.
When what was made has been unmade
The Maker comes to His work.





Comments

stephseef said…
have come back to this many, many times today. it's so, so good.
5:29 PM
Bonnie said…
Thank you for a Berry poem!
2:19 PM
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