Without explanation,
Or reason,
The sudden silence comes.
And silence in answer.
And the silences first spill, then gather
In tired,
Empty nights
Into
Pictures of Elohim.
Imagined, abandoned, or known,
He shadows us along the
Rivers and the four-lanes.
We are dogged, birth to death,
And drowned, one way or another,
In his pleas for our return.
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