Advent: Week Two

placed in our hands there is a book
written for our learning
for that softly sifting song
gifts our heart a yearning
to embrace what is impressed
a hope in with and under
may we hold fast until we've passed
to an ever present wonder

we eat bread of the weeping
with salt mixed into the dough
killing the yeast, our feast
strangers eat our fruit
reaching over a tumbledown
a stack of rocks spread
on the ground.  We are the food
for locust clouds, for raging boars.
Flames lick our face and we
despair as we burn. As we burn.
Will you turn again and shine,
he who is enthroned on
cherubim's wings? Will you shine?

So we walk to the dark unknown
with feet lit by a light suffused
from the dirtied ground, salts risen
to a baked surface, every drop
of water squeezed into the air.
But we walk the desert's yearning
her rocky paths and trackless ways
we walk because beyond the shattered
horizon, the listless sun speaks
and lights the way to the endless day.