And so the time comes to let you go again
like Mary at her weeping station
like Peter in his running shameful cry
like Mary Magdalene’s sad watchful eye
like the soldier’s gasping epiphany
like Joseph gently laying your body down and releasing you
into the tomb the darkness the empty unknown.

We would rather hang on to you friend
and let Simon take the cross as you slip out of line
catch a taxicab out of town
and escape into your suburban green lawn hideaway
where we drop by for a Sunday cookout and a Bud.
The mosquitoes would hover around us like angels
singing "holy, holy, holy" and smell our breath and sweat
and bite you and draw a blood drop
and we look at each other and we know now 
as we hang our weeping heads
that nothing ever gets done in clinging comfort.

And so the time comes to let you go again
and let God do the divine metamorphosis
of every weeping, shameful, sad, gasping, gentle release
into the tomb of darkness where you meet us in emptiness
where when we let you go we let ourselves go also
as we fall into the earthy black of surrender
and wait, wait, wait for your next  creation out of nothing
your unexpected goodness bleeding through
your resurrection of everything we released to you
even ourselves in our fear of you and your mysterious ways.


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