Don’t let the sadness of silent friends
become the muse of panicked pain.
Let, instead, a song of silent sadness
bedeck the mystery of patient place.
Don’t wait to hear the morning birds –
listen instead to the quiet humming
of trees whose secrets are theirs to share
with those, waiting, craning their necks.
Give what time is left in the weeks of minutes
in days of nowhere to wait –
for what yet will come
in songs, freshly sung,
by voices, newly found.
God has not left you –
she only sings to others still waiting for
notes and what assurance is given
in the pin-pricks of light invading your dark.