Come,
stand with me in the stillness
at the ending of the rain,
as I contemplate the possibility
of hope emerging,
rising again
out of the pain of loss.
Loss –
that aching hole
which gnaws at the heart,
and renders the mind useless
for a time
until a day when,
seemingly out of nowhere,
the fog lifts a little,
and the heavy curtain of perpetual rain
is gently drawn aside.
It is here –
in that thick and weighty stillness following the storm,
where my I sense my skin
begin to feel a little less tender,
a little less raw –
as the softness of your touch
draws me out at last,
and I can finally hear your gentle voice
over the steady pounding of blood in my ears,
and receive your words of promise
and of future –
that the years the locusts devoured,
will be given anew.
And as I lean into this courage
beginning to bud in the pit of my belly,
a layer is lifted.
