It was a temple that towered with suffering.
In the blink of an eye
I had devoted years of my life to singing
within its court,
thinking I could spatter my tears upon the altar
and make my supplications go up in smoke.
But the nature of truth is like a bursting dam:
It is quite, but once the keystone falls
There is nothing to stop that quiet from inundating.
By the time I descended the temple’s pedestal-hill
I was fretful and saturated.
I have not put down my harp –
Though my hands are covered in earth.
I am learning the lonely patience of the farmer
who lovingly sits in moonlight,
Putting his faith in the One that pervades
the darkness of the earth,
waiting till the rains He designated so long ago
come crashing down at their appointed hour,
rending the earth asunder,
causing brilliant blooms to burst forth.