Cry, sister,
cry through the long nights
when the moon alone is a willing friend
who will name the hard truth that
God has left us
to count the stars
to count the days
to count the lives
317 days too many
every hashtag 1 too many
300 billion stars too many
with their blinking silence
with their ethereal beauty
that only magnifies the pain
of our solitude
far away
from God
who has gone out
to count the steps
to count the days
to count the lives
that measure promises
broken and sins
Cry, sister,
cry loud and long
in the hopes that
your lament will echo
across the wilderness
to the shade of a bramble
where God is resting
from measuring
the depths of sin
and brokenness
from traversing
the distance between
loving kindness and
single-minded violence
the length and breadth of which
are finally beyond
even God’s

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