The Lengthening of the Light

The Lengthening of the Light

(“He came near and touched the coffin, and the bearers stood still. He said, ‘Young man, I tell you, arise!’” Luke 7:14)

One day, or maybe two,
perhaps it will take a week. And now
I am pondering time as if I have more to spare
than I’ve been allotted.
But I’ve seen a baby smile and change the
conversations in a room.
I’ve seen a lover laugh and make the sun
keep shining for just a while longer.
I’ve seen the light lengthen late on a
pre-Spring evening.

But I’ve watched the rosebush I planted
die over winter with roots withered after snow.
I’ve cried as a pet died, my American Eskimo named
Halo.
I’ve held the hand of a saint until their last breath left
and we said the final Amen.

I’ve stood at the front of a hundred people waiting for
another song.
I’ve stood behind a hundred more and wondered what was
taking so long.
I’ve sat with five waiting for news from the surgeon,
I’ve stood with a dozen waiting in the rain, children
covered in mud and not running for cover.

What I’m waiting to observe is a resurgence like a river
following the cloudbursts that wash our scales away,
like new wind that freshens the doldrums of summer.
Here is what I’m hoping;
more.
Here is what I’m seeing;
seeds.
Here is what I’m hearing;
hymns.
Here is what I’m writing;
weeds

So beautiful we cultivate them and never
ignore
dandelions again.