Meditation IX
Article voiceover
O God who tears the wings from butterflies to feed the warbler’s sightless young with stained glass windows, each one sundered glory, veined with purpose dissolution’s rough surprise cannot abscise; Who primes the blacksnake’s rise, spurs it to scale protective trunks and strain the yolks of warbler eggs through callous fangs to nourish soft-shelled eggs that swell disguised inside its length; Who sends the hazy scent of eggs aloft from where the snake consigned them to the earth, alerts raccoons intent on food; Whose ends and means always align; Have mercy. Give me sight enough to know how you cause blessing to proceed from woe.
Because this is real life, anyone who chooses to listen to the voiceover gets the bonus inclusion of my kids doing dishes (as loudly as possible) (across the house) (through a closed door that is failing at its job). God is good!
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One of those paradoxes it sure is, blessings for one, woe for another. Great poem in many ways!
Amen! So well executed Mark. Not a syllable out of place, nor an image - and the poem's argument is carried off without a hitch.