He Meets Us In The Dark

This is a poem by my son, Brian, in the aftermath of their miscarriage. Brian and Jennifer, my son and daughter-in-law.

Empty.
A new twig on the tree
But no leaves budding,
Unfurling miniature fingers.
Spring has come,
But brittle branches
Stretch with barren stiffness
Poised for nothing?
This little limb meant more.
The ache of sap rises in my bones,
Leaks into tears, small sighs
For small deaths;
Not for what is,
But for what could have been.

Roots are for these days.
My wife and I delve deeply down
Dark and blind paths
Under earth, soul-roots thirsting
Seeking, crying for comfort
In half-finished prayers;
And before we are done
He meets us in the dark,
Wet with His tears
Shed on another tree,
Yes. He loves.
We drink sovereign stillness
And let our questions go,
Satisfied.