An Overture Untitled

The world is alive today in swelling fullness,
life upon life upon death.


The clouds were played and arranged
by a string quartet,
and the veiled winter sun
the woodwinds proudly array.


(In my Love, the King,
      is all magnificence--)


He opened the heavens,
opened his hands,
and what is invisible poured forth.


If our hearts were but right
      we might see!
If our hearts were but right
      we might hear!
Or perhaps it is not our lot,
and perhaps it is not our lot.


The symphony surges,
swirls above and throughout
      (we keep to our quiet lives).
The triumphal march soars,
sweeping loudly to proclaim
      (we keep to our busy lives).


The resonating cello
left its song within my soul.
It sings sweetly and strongly
of sorrow and lament
and a throbbing ache
of strange, unspeakable joy.


The world, my dear,
is alive today,
and the silent love of a King
(life upon life upon death).