A Poem for Holy Saturday
Doubt and belief
The two are one today,
And I feel the cold and barren branches
As pieces of my soul, my past, my future.
Some color I have never seen,
Some spice I have never tasted
Stirs in the marrow of this tree,
I wonder, I hope, I believe this is so.
O tree on which Love suffers
And dies, keep watch with me tonight
And reconcile all that is barren in me,
And all that is alive, and all that is.