Heavy on your brow the crown sits
Wove of brittle shale tears shed by
Wretched sheep you shepherded.
Waist-deep in shards,
We wade.
Great, scarred paws sift deceits for the carbonless diamond,
Save trembling sailors whose ships have sunk,
Stand with the smokers in solidarity,
Singe and soil wings, broken and healed,
broken and healed,
to lift the dead weight of separation.
In a misty hayfield stands a grand, live oak,
a hive of curving, gnarled parentheses.
The swaying arms cradle whispered vespers like Spanish moss,
Billowing tiny words into the air.
They are singing.
As they fall, the words twine wreaths
Round our heavy heads.
The songs, old truths, gather in braids
From heartwood, deep beneath the rings.
Longing to root in a strange, noble trust,
The branches embrace us paternally.
As we gaze up, rain falls from a clear blue sky
And we are sent to walk the long road.
From a distance, it was not a pillar of salt the gift
But the drops, like prisms, lit by a ray
And the words, “All is well”
In our ears.
“Love is such a priceless treasure that you may redeem the whole world by it, and expiate not only your own sins, but the sins of others. Go, and be not afraid.”
- Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov
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