He knew he’d need a logic once again,
Some words to offer when the young girl called
To ask for words to make the pain less sharp,
And the logic that would make an answer
Blossom once agin, found perhaps
In a purple iris tip, or sheathing
Spears of spring-time grass,
Or fetal heron landing by the pond’s edge
Or noted in the tremolo of meadow-lark,
A voice he knew was God’s descending
In spring-time dusk, but quickly lost
In breath and blush, the phrase persistent.
He knew he’d need to find that logic,
One passing moment from all the isolated details
That has no other name but faith, bravery,
Some face to verify, an impulsive facet
He could stand and lean on once again.
It was then he knew he’d leave the ending open,
An ending subtle, benevolent, inherent
In a rose-colored sun now buttoned neatly behind
A western bank of clouds, an image dauntless in its logic,
The final proof and presence of a crafted symmetry,
The astonished union he knew was then taking place.
Books mentioned in this essay may be found in The Imaginative Conservative Bookstore.