Eventide

The earth longs sad and
Long for the message
You’ve been given to bring
Rendered doubtful
In a corner trod upon
Winepress relations
Of each unending
Moment
Far be it for me
To say
What’s troubling you
What’s in your head
Or whether you will
Overcome that longing;
Whether the
Wound upon your
Open heart would
Stride around the houses
Stoop to look
In an unspent
Instant
Of hardened guilt
The world longs eventide
And morning long
For your longing
For the coaxing image
Of your mother’s
Grace and claims
Far be it for me
To say
Whether you
Would be better
Off to stride away
Without your message
Sent with all your flesh
And blood deliverance culled
Fastness to maximum
Extent.