Bare branches mere bones of
sorrow etching crosses black and
bleak against a heaven that has
forgotten how to smile.
Sky knits a seamless shroud;
the air is thick and still with
heaven’s grief for all the sadness of a
world of stitches dropped and patterns
gone awry; silence in my sagging pines.
Has God forgotten us? misplaced his
once delight in wind that tiptoes
through my chimes? in mischievous
white clouds that spill their joy into my trees?
My only answer is a Presence
brooding over all the tatters of this
wilted earth, pulling me to Silence
that has held within its womb
all that is, from dawn of time until this
solemn Day of Ash; bare-branched
crosses stretching high into the sky;
smudge of ashes burning on my brow;
enough; the Presence tender holds my
dust, rocks me in the empty trees.