Can we steer this vessel toward the heart’s longing for wordlessness?
Can we piece together a quilt of guilt from years of layered shame?
Might we cry out to stay within the dark emboldened lines of compassion’s ache?
And how, in the wee hours of night’s aloneness, do we make sense of the world’s anguish?
What’s to become of us in the still silent moments?
When I waken tomorrow will I still love you to the moon and back and around each star?