A Fault, A Furrow

Omnis vallis exaltabitur, et omnis mons et collis humiliabitur, et erunt prava in directa, et aspera in vias planas: et revelabitur gloria Domini, et videbit omnis caro pariter quod os Domini locutum est.” (Isaiah 40:4)

A fault is a lacking, a failing,
a … “me falta, yo me falta,
un yo no sé qué.”

A furrow runs pathside while the
path, over rock and over root,
leaps up to the heights.

What does it mean: to stand on solid ground?
Feet flying, left, then right—an avalanche
of man through the leaves.

In the beginning, we were unveiled
and unashamed. (Now leaves untreed
hide your work from sight.)

And the chaos of leaf-falling, wind-
lashing rain conceals the clash in me!—
“being” and … “not yet.”

Fault lines, lines of lacking, where I meet you,
like the lines of war where earth meets earth,
deep down this wooded ground.

Why the mountains? why the valleys?
Why the faults? and why the violent crash?
Does it please you, Jesus?—

All the earth with saint-impatience striving
till every valley be exalted
and You come at last!—

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