Won’t there be endless
progress into the past
and won’t we find there
everyone no one
ever heard of,
and won’t they stand
and flourish finally,
just as they’d hoped?
Won’t there be endless
progress into the past
and won’t we find there
everyone no one
ever heard of,
and won’t they stand
and flourish finally,
just as they’d hoped?

Christ to death
while the guilty man goes free.
And a white-hot freedom it is –
one better left alone.
Better to putter behind
shades and abstractions,
to sleep the many sleeps
that bring us our own.

Your light is flooding this tract.
It has soaked the grass
and risen up through the brush
to fill the trees.
And so we must flee.
We climb the trees to await
boats of darkness
that will take us to caverns
cool and
covered with moss.
Where we’ll wait, to see what You do.




