Crumbles of what was
dark earth, dark matter, dark me.
Smaller, lighter, less; smeared heavy on the forehead
the press of another’s hand very real. Flesh touches flesh
Seeds of what might be
broken wings, broken light, broken me.
Pieces, parts, shreds; lifted by hands, held by love
the very mark of dirt, a promise.
Proof of what is
beautiful earth, beautiful light, beautiful me.
all, complete, whole. Touched by man and by God
Note: This poem is part of my Lenten discipline, in which I attempt to cultivate space and quiet in order to hear from God and respond with poetry.