Dear God,

I am where I have always been:
Inscribed on the palm
Of Your powerful hand;
I wait in Gilead for balm
To soothe the wound I can’t understand.

You speak into what is not,
And the impossible bursts forth
Like a fresh fawn eagerly trots;
You point the seamen to true north
By distant, burning blots.

You breathe, and wind troubles the waves,
Babies inhale and cry.
You tell us to be brave
Knowing we will suffer and die,
Because You know beauty outlives the grave.

You wait quietly by my grief
With a capacity to feel beyond my own
You cement my belief
While all I’ve known
Becomes the carousel of a thief.

And my heart is shattered.
My tears have replaced my song.
My love is purple and battered
With nowhere to belong:
The home I built is scattered.

But I know I still reside
Where I’ve always dwelled
Where I always run to hide
From the fumes of hell:
I curl up inside

The palm of Your tender hand.