I will not bless the prison cell
because the saint stood true,
nor call the broken body good
for what the faithful knew.

A martyr's courage does not make
the sword that killed him right;
the blood remains a human loss,
however brave the night.

There had been Scriptures handed up,
and houses stripped away,
the prison crowded, altars raised,
and sacrifice to pay.

So when at last the doors swung wide
and confiscations ceased,
when Christians gathered without fear,
I will not mourn that peace.

Before the Church had shaped its creed,
a Roman singer dreamed:
a child would come, the iron cease,
and earth grow green, redeemed;
later believers heard that song
as more than Virgil dreamed.

Then temple, synagogue, and street
grew strained through loss and fear;
what Rome had counted one at first
grew separate year by year;
and words from wounded, severing days
would darken later years.

They met the court, the lash, the beasts,
the prison’s iron breath;
Perpetua held her child and name,
then walked the road to death.
I will not make her suffering sweet,
nor make her courage less.

These hands know paper, cup, and door,
the weight of work, the waiting chair;
yet linger with them something more—
not hidden, only always there.

Attention turns no stone to gold,
nor makes the common world divine;
it clears the noise, then lets us hold
what waited quietly for time.

Perhaps the world needs no new light,
but eyes grown patient with the slow—
to stay with what is plain in sight
until we see how much we do not know.

We laid them underneath the earth
Where root and rainfall meet,
And afterward we walked back home
With grave-dust on our feet.

The spade had struck the darkened loam,
The ropes had borne them down;
Above us rooks crossed autumn fields
Beyond the churchyard town.

We said the words that people say
When words are very small,
Then heard the dreadful earth descend—
A handful, then it all.

And nothing rose to answer us.
No voice came through the clay.
The dead remained among the dead.
The living walked away.

I used to know the road to God,
Or thought I knew it well;
The steeple cut the morning sky,
And every bell could tell.

I knew the prayers before they came,
The hymns, the bread, the wine;
I thought belief was something held,
And what I held was mine.

The world seemed fastened at its joints,
The stars stayed where they ought;
The dead were gathered into grace,
The wandering were sought.

And when they told me, “God is good,”
I never questioned why;
I had not stood beside a grave
And heard a mother cry.

O Christ, bring what we hear of you
beneath the words we say;
let mercy move through hand and heart,
let truth become our way.

Make deep in us the open hand
that gives and seeks no gain;
make deep the love that will not learn
the language of our pain.

Make deep the sight that first can bear
the timber in our eye;
the courage to receive the light
before we testify.

Make deep the heart where good may root
and ripen into fruit;
let mouth and deed bear out the life
that grows from hidden root.

Love crosses farther than return,
past bargain, thanks, and gain;
it walks toward those who hate us still
and will not answer pain with pain.

The curse stays curse, the blow stays blow,
the wound is wound, not seed;
pain need not plant its likeness there
nor ripen into deed.

A cheek is struck, a cloak is seized,
a beggar waits nearby;
the hand that grips its goods must hear
the hunger’s answering cry.

The fist can open without praise,
the debt can lose its claim;
a gift need not come home again
before it bears love’s name.

We come with hands that hunger knows,
with hearts that measure bread;
we bring the words our mouths have made
and all we leave unsaid.

The Sabbath grain still bends in light,
the hungry still draw near;
what we have named as holy meets
the human need already here.

A hand held close against the side
comes slowly into sight;
the fingers open into strength,
while anger hardens tight.

One hand unfolds beneath the light,
one heart grows hard with blame;
the room holds healing in its midst
and fury just the same.