In The Field

Our lives require so much bravery
to live! to love! to write! to believe!

If every poem is a love letter to Gd,
let this be another after others

before more dent pages, empty pens,
empty my heart to exhaustion.

In my chest, upon my back,
weight carried by my thighs —

irreversible histories,
irreconcilable memories —

cheeks burn in shame,
illicit images stain,

quicken my blood,
hasten my desire

to only return
and surrender

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these accouterments
rusted by guilt and sorrow

carried to Your tent,
spilled at Your feet.

Let this be an act of praise,
let this be an act of cleaving,

let this be an act of revelation,
of baring, of bearing, a glaring

error of utter trust — here I am,
Gd, in the field to meet You, where You

know my potential is boundless
because so is my lacking.


Photo by David Marcu on Unsplash.