When a Church Loses a Pastor
by Kate English
On our knees tryna find a new prayer
Skin scrapes dirt to feel the wet of God’s tongue
Will His soft sunlight stall the air?
Voices thrum with low despair,
Making the flight of the first dove
On our knees tryna find a new prayer
What still slow waiting must we bare?
Hope nests with ache inside the young
Will His soft sunlight stall the air?
No flesh, no scrolls, no oaths to repair
No melodies or wails unsung
On our knees tryna find a new prayer
Shaking hands pressed close with care
Thoughts toward his warmth, gardens he dug
Will His soft sunlight stall the air?
An absence this full must send up a flare
Swaddling grief rends a richer love
On our knees tryna find a new prayer
Will His soft sunlight stall the air?