The “wounded surgeon” works while I’m awake And only by compassion does not break The heart which beat so steady yet so dead While severed
Tag: poem
Feet
I’ve begun rereading Exodus for my devotions and am struck again and again by the motifs that are fulfilled in Christ, often in unexpected ways.
An Easter Rehearsal
I know my feet are prone to slip, unsure, So I play it again: Alleluia. And I know my hands may strike without measure, So
Hymn to The Reconciler
I worked on this sonnet throughout Holy Week but, as my organist schedule would have it, did not have a chance to revise and publish
VII. The Blind Man (8:22-26)
Touch me, someone,That I might know you’re there! Greet me, anyone,So I am not aloneIn this dark, dark, darkness. I am begging,Begging for more than
VI. The Deaf Man (7:31-37)
I cannot tellWhat these gestures mean.Why do you all waveYour hands at me? I can only guess atThe words on your lipsAnd can only makeVain attemptsTo
