We are all unwilling recluses.
We know the trifles of distraction
that pull us away from the tethers of reality
In the morning, we wake from restless sleep and fearful understanding
the darkness covers and we cry in the GethseMany of our aloneness.
And we taste the same legions of despair.
There will be a time of feasting, but for now we are alone.
We must taste this food of a hundred days lost
Trust the Father
Wash the hands and feet of the beloved- even if the chasm
brings bewilderment with consolations few.
We will set our course away from the high wind of desolation
toward the disambiguating light of our great Hope.
Our (dis)ease is alienation