In the silence,
raspberry and tangerine mingling like half-melted sherbet behind the eastern trees on the hill,
coffee diluted by the dullness of a room too temperatured,
the chaos and unknowns of a land, free and not-so-much anymore,
broken and unmending
(Will we survive another semi-quincentennial? Will we survive even this day?),
are softened to hope,
the form of a girl,
crawled upon my lap and curved around my belly,
molding and melding to my very form
to wrap gentleness around my heart as
she nuzzles my neck.
And the closeness envelopes me.
She is the future.
She is the witness.
She is the conduit, open and free and willing and longing
for Jesus to flow through her.
And for this moment –
this dreadful, blessed moment
(Blessed, because what else could it be?
Dreadful, because I know it will pass too quickly.) –
She pours Jesus’ love into me.
And I am healed.
From my heart to yours,
