Work of the Lord


Pavelblazek – from Wikimedia Commons


A poem for my friend, Dave


Work of the Lord

And the floor falls out from beneath you
like you’ve been skating on ice,
only you didn’t see the cracks.
Fissures run from the crystalline,
in between the pause
of your breath.
You don’t know the words
but it may be
that your heart is broken.
The bark stripped bare:
you never knew you could feel
so naked.

It’s been years since we’ve seen
our skin so plainly.
Black and white contrast
of what is true and
what we thought we knew.
At first,
the sunlight is painful.
Can we see so much, and miss
so much more?

You feel the pain in the fractures,
instability of the ground you used to trust.
Your hands try to find comfort
in places it used to be. They look for certainty
where it was before.
The maps we have drawn
are incomplete, corners marked
at wrong turns.
We make them anew.

We weave a work of art,
an act of trust in the voice
outside our own:
ink the lines step by step, accept the edges
that always fade into fog.

And so,
pain becomes an ally,
one that helps us shake the entanglements
that have kept us trapped.
Uncertainty is the surety we need most
in order to fall
into arms of grace.

I have placed monuments
at all the places where I hit bottom,
my imprint still clear in the soft mud.
I mark the moments
when I surrendered to rebirth.
I have piled rocks atop
the different seasons,
writing out words I too often forget:
“This is a work of the Lord.”



  1. tony brouhard · · Reply

    very good

  2. tony brouhard · · Reply

    very good and it hits the heart

  3. Tammy Babad · · Reply

    hard and true. I feel the cracks and the edges fading into fog. Thanks, Elly

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