The evening song rises,
wavering upward with the incense.
Voices sound out like trumpets,
break open in beauty like daffodils,
proclaiming before the great suffering begins:
“It is for love! It is for love!
This great folly is for love!”
And then, the garden,
Jesus, your prayer rises like a whisp of smoke,
like a candle extinguished…
leaving only a sad grey trail
curling heavenward in the darkness.
The tabernacle sits empty,
like a heart broken open
and found abandoned.
mourning you with our songs,
eyes open and aching,
empty of tears,