I have no more
a single affinity for this place.
My food has turned to dust
and the very water I drink turns dry in my throat.
Blessings seem but sustenance for my exile;
for there is no mortal salve can ease the pain
of longing across the grave.

To hold again those tiny hands
has set my eyes beyond these shores.
beyond the curtain drawn
where none who pass
may come this way again.

And here in the laughing eyes that
look up from my knee
I find my soul’s contention
not in fear of the grave or losing the earth;
But in the longing of this heart
To hold two angels near
For my heart is fettered
both sides of the veil
from "The Unwanted Blessing"
used with permission from Wipf and Stock Publishers,
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