Distance – a poem

We will not embrace this day, but maintain
our distance, a widening loss marked in time,
but not in touch, each moved against the grain
as though sorrow would remain in lines
and not transgress, nor breach, nor blot, nor blur.
These are times of feelings kempt and stayed,
of charity retrained to speak that it is there,
and reach no hand, but heavenwards to pray.
This is charged space, that craves new collision,
that would split each atom of exiled grief,
bring disordered grace, insist on confusion
of homes, and hearts, and limbs, and life.
But now, with Mary, Martha, in vacant tears, 
we eye the gap, for Jesus drawing near. 

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