Friday, November 17, 2017


After Romans 8:22-29

It comes deeply,
this groan, a tearing
of the soul, a pain
coming from the waiting
for the healing, promised.

The dove flies into the groaning,
itself groaning in words
inexpressible, simultaneously
deflecting, interceding, searching
a parallel responsibility

to prick, to stimulate, to strip
away even as the interceding
continues without ceasing,
continues with groans too deep
to comprehend.

We wait as the shaping
and molding continue,
creating a work forever
unfinished. The waiting,
too, is a work, if not
of art then certainly
a work designed to be
in progress, and we know
this is true because
we know in hope, a mother
awaiting the gestation,
a child awaiting the arrival
of its father, the hands
holding, the arms
enfolding, home,

Photograph by Joe Gardner via Unsplash. Used with permission.