Love lost me
somewhere
between
the burning bush
and the promised land.
There were many times
when we walked together:
atop the mountain when we
looked back and saw
how far we’d traveled;
beside the river — oh! the beautiful river —
how that moment ached
when we saw our best hopes
so clearly but
turned away.
Still, worst of all
was the moment
when Love lost me,
the moment when Love said
“Pitch your tent here”
and pointed
to a dry rock.
Then I was
completely
lost
and unable to find
any more hope in Love.
I was lost . . . no,
I was left.
And Love
has not since returned
to make a home on the rock with me,
nor to ease my discomfort and
send me on a new way.
Love left me, and
here I wait
until
Love
finds me.