A Poem for Lent. A joy to nurture, a covenant of the purest love. Lest we forget.
"Is my gloom, after all, shade of His hand outstretched caressingly?"---From "The Hound of Heaven" by Francis Thompson
All that it takes to remember that I am still with you
is this morning’s sun, glaring from a clear blue sky,
and I have never absconded, never left your side
even when I found myself at the edge of the field
merely a part of your life’s curious appurtenances,
someone you’d remember when the muezzin calls
from his minaret, or angelus intones from emporia
microphones, or when the dry season lends penitence
its hauteur from random worshippers of a crucifixion
forgotten in the hill of skulls, a mocking flagellation.
I will be there when litanies of pain fill your evenings,
I will be there when you lose all faith in love or dreams.
At the edge of the field, I will be there, waiting for you
in the shadows, until you finally stop running away .
—Albert B. Casuga