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Summer/Fall 2002

Poetry by Abby G. Marvin

Psalm 11502In mourning of Don Brintnall

We weep in the still of dawn.
Has heaven known such sorrow
as earth knows today?
My God, my God, my God.

The ear strains for the bass of river-song.
The eyes searches for a farmer bringing back the
sweet hay.
The eye turns to the blue of open sky
for the blue of an open eye.
And the heart—it seeks love
in the eyes of a calf.
The weary seek a home in the wilderness
in the shade of a family tree.
My God, my God, my God.

We seek but do not find.
We ask but are not given.
We knock but the door does not open.
My God, my God.

My God, if our tree of life is gone,
where shall we taste the fruits of the Spirit?
Our hearts break open like a curtain torn.
Even the harps of angels die
as the flame of the fury of our loss
sputters to a spark of despair.
Without a shepherd or star to guide our journey
we look to the night to smother us
in darkness.
My God, my God, why have you forsaken us?

And then—and then
On the breath of dawn and the wings of morning
we will find
that when we awake, we are still with thee,
We will seek the joy that comes with morning.
We knock, but the tomb is empty—
the tomb is empty.
My God, my God

My God calls out,
“Well done, my good and faithful servant!
Come unto me and I will give you rest.
Peace I give unto you.”

The mighty tree lies fallen still
but its saplings unfurl new leaves
in hopes of growing as tall
watching as one set of footprints
departs down the beach
on a closer walk with thee,
my God.

My God, my God.

Oh, Beloved



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