advent journal: good measure
I can show you a cup of flour,
or a pound of sugar, and
I’ve gotten pretty good at
scooping a two ounce cookie,
but I am at a loss to quantify
how heavy grief is,
how long a heart stays broken,
the depth of damage done,
how far it is to forgiveness,
the speed of the sound of loneliness —
even as I strain to comprehend
how a heart like yours
can hold a galaxy of grace,
how sorrow becomes weightless
in the gravity of your love,
how home is as close as you
calling my name in the dark
calling my name . . .
Peace,
Milton