When I don’t know how deep this sorrow goes
or when this fount will spill itself out,
I look on you and see
a heart still wounded,
blood and water flowing endlessly
and marks that will not fade.
When my soul is lying down in the dust
and I am being ground down,
back into the sand and gravel
from which I was made,
I remember that this is how
wheat is changed into something new.
And I know that I can choose
to be poured out like a libation,
broken, and offered up in thanksgiving
in the suffering.