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THE JOSEPH SKY

The many-colored Coat we wear, Conceals the tremor of the bone We walk as Princes of the Air, Yet shun the Depths we call our own; A Pit lies silent in the field Where Envy cast its careful Stone Till Love proclaims: “I speak I am alone.” No Thunder split the Joseph Sky, No Voice descended, stern and bright; The Heavens kept their Curtains high, And sealed the Oracles of Night. Yet in the Famine of the Soul A Brother wept in hidden Light And Names broke open, tender in their Might. “What Mantle hides your secret Scar? What Dream, discarded, calls for Breath? What Distance have we carried far To guard the brittle pride of Death?” So stands the Heart, with garments torn, Unarmored now, resigned to Faith — And finds in Wound the softer Speech beneath. “I am the one who speaks to you” Not God in Fire, nor Cloud above But Brother, trembling, human, true, Unsealing long-forbidden Love. The Grain is given, Tears are shed, The Silent turns to Speech thereof And Night reveals the quiet Light thereof. Not last the Word though Silence reigned; Not sealed the Tomb though Hope seemed gone. A fractured Coat, by Mercy stained, Becomes the Dawn we stumble on. For Peace, in tattered cloth arrayed, Outlives the Lie we built upon And Love endures when every dream is done. No Thunder split the Joseph Sky, No Voice descended, stern and bright; The Heavens kept their Curtains high, And sealed the Oracles of Night. Yet in the Famine of the Soul A Brother wept in hidden Light And Names be opened, tender in their Might. Tender in their might