My green heart We must live for God and
die for God, You said. I once thought these were
two different things. Death approaching makes
brittle my bones. Greener and suppler is my
heart. Suppleness necessary for
yielding. Death necessary for new
growth. In the Tomb, while
sitting at Your feet, a fire ravaged my house. The floor of my chest
turned to burning coals. Underneath its blackened
rafters, settled among the ash, my green heart now is
weaving a nest. Wonderful things have
sprung up: songs of praise, tears of
gratitude; attempted fidelity, an
inchoate love . . . . Why not consider yourself
already dead? You asked. This makes sense to
me. I was born in Your Tomb. O child of God, one
morning the old shell gave way to new growth and turned
your blackened heart green.
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