by Jonathan Hunter-Kilmer
a breaking branch
a family
the hands that bend and twist
the broken branches
finally
but painfully exist
one finger goes where it ought not
a life, a name is scorned
but scorn is not enough to save
those who have yet been born
a twisting tear
the leaves to pulp
are ground by angry hands
and skin is scraped
and strafed
then scarred
as they ignore commands
to follow You
must be a tear
You said so
maybe sword
will cut
and cleanly end
the sin
in ashes by Your word
Beloved,
the children
dead or lost
brought back to life to come
by what was done
so long ago
and severed
grow, bloom, from
the cuttings
of Your nail-bit hands
and switftly oozing side
gives growth
new family
strong trees
that build the boat You ride
where I sit, listening to You
forgetting hell long gone
and making Heaven
on Your earth
since You rose
at its dawn
