"God is my strength"
were the first words spoken
when we saw your small body
lying still, broken.

"God is my strength"
was braided in the prayer
that your Nana spoke over you,
even though you weren't there.

"God is my strength"
was my loudest heart cry
when the doctor came in
and didn't speak, but sighed.

"God is my strength"
said Jon's hand on my hair
"God is our strength"
his eyes spoke through the air.

"God is my strength"
our eyes locked in to say
while we slept and we cried
countless hours away.

"God is my strength"
as the pain grew stronger,
"God is my strength"
as the night grew longer.

"God is my strength"
as I wept through my prayers
"God is my strength"
although this feels unfair.

"God is my strength"
in the silence that followed
"God is my strength"
my womb and arms, hollow.

"God is my strength"
when the nurse held you first.
"God is my strength"
when the silence was burst.

"God is my strength"
I've never seen this before.
"God is my strength"
I can't take anymore.

"God is my strength"
tiny son in my hands
"God is my strength"
For I know the plans...

"God is my strength"
that day and still.
He holds my baby
as part of His Will.

"God is my strength"
and I know it's best
for Gabriel to be there
where he is best blessed.

they're warmer,
slower somehow,
these
tears of grief

they warm my eyes
like i'm
filling a bath
and sinking down
in too low
to breathe
but not quite
so low to drown

they're warmer
sure
but softer?
not quite.

they ***** down
slowly at first
and then
they chase each
other about
halfway down
because
it seems they're
in a hurry
to leave behind
the ache they
bring
the sting
they
sting

they pool out
they run down
and they leave
me behind
dried out
and empty
with no chance
to escape
into the air
and change
into something
new
the same way
that they
do