Holding Each Other

With Nothing but Everything

Your love should weep for you

when you lie

and say you are not afraid.

They should spill

wine upon your robe

and laugh with the child

you locked in the attic

of your chest.

My Love . . .

do not come to me polished.

Do not bring your sweet-smelling mask

into this trembling temple.

Come as the storm

who forgets its name.

Come as the river

who remembers

she was never meant

to stay in one place.

I will kiss your fury.

I will cradle your wound.

I will sing so close

to your brokenness

that even your shame

will forget how to speak.

This . . .

this is how

we become God’s hands.

By holding each other

with nothing

but everything.