A Desperate Dark
(A poem for the first Sunday of Advent. A poem for hope.)
It’s a desperate dark that pulled us here,
we’ve been heaved ashore
crawling, cold and choking,
on salt,
and sand,
and water.
It’s a desperate dark that drew us here,
swimming toward a light
we saw briefly,
in the space between
–the tumult.
It’s a desperate dark that brought us here,
we lay soaked in sorrow,
for what was lost
in death-by-drowning
–at sea.
It’s a desperate, desperate dark.
It’s our desperate dark that pulled You here,
into a woman’s womb
heaved out
cold and choking
on water,
and salt,
and air.
It’s our desperate dark that drew You here,
undressing as You came,*
to briefly light
Love’s true form
–of weakness.
It’s our desperate dark that brought You here,
down into our waves
and ways of wounding
–and fear.
It’s our desperate, desperate dark that You are near.
*Herbert, George, The Bag.