In what wild wilderness will You
leave me to weep, waiting for some sign
that what I seek
is already mine, unseen?

I have given all to You to take, use,
keep safe, bring brightly home, and every
burn and ache I vowed
to bear for You alone, for Love's sake.

But all appears empty now, and gray,
and my greatest fear here is at the end
of the day I am only
me alone and exerting nothing.

The delight of desire dampened
to vague trust, the former fire
dulled to ash and every breath
that once was prayer is now
just dust, lifeless air.

Is this the lowliness of love, the way
that is no way at all, the weird
half-dark before loneliness is at last
pure enough to be lit with
the deep lightnings of God?

When will fire again flash in this
vast uninteresting landscape in me
where You promised to
pitch Your tent,
to delight in dwelling?

Or at least, when will you again at last
let my shoulder feel
the weight of the cross, my arms measure
the circumference of rough wood, my hands know
the consolation of its splinters,
my heart
the rending of pure love?