May my poems
reach far
into the wounds
of the shivering woman
with faraway eyes
looking for her spot
on the wet, gritty sidewalk.
May the words given to me
pour into
the original gashes
that won’t let her
feel God.
Perhaps the words
will seep into
her vault of tears
and
she will bawl
like the baby
everyone turned away from.
She may open then,
open
to feel the truth
of her heart-wrenching losses
and,
someday soon, I hope,
open
to feel the truth
of the Divine.