For Easton Edwards

Go job the altar of your faith And learning from him In silence at the altar wait Till truth is no more dim Go tongue the promise like a breast And wipe your grief With memory upon the unseen chest Snuggle a cycle of relief For there are things that make men Children again. things That all the theology of heaven Does not yet explain. O could I give heart and flesh to bear To against this granite grief Or sit like a friend in the ashes there And pine too for relief I too had a son, feather of my wings And saw him cold, his blood Driven like a thief from his soul. Stings More deep the viperous flood The lost and gall of blame that must wilt Your little stalk of faith But I have plunged my love to its hilt And flinch not from the state I have worn these rough upon the floor Before, in petition for grace And now wears sky, mountain and shore Causing your suit to his face So through the night, my brother, hold Job the altar of your faith Embrace the Balm in Gilead of your soul While here prayers' patience wait.