Clouds hover
and from them emerges
the shape of a woman
bent in agony, cradling
in one arm the suffering child,
reaching far with the other
for the prodigal daughter.
Her two children are born
of one hope: life more abundant.
They are the whole earth;
an egg, cracked and leaking
from its center.

The mother’s tears fall
hard as a summer rain.
The wail of her voice in the wind 
reverberates through unending sky.
Mother God is calling her children.
She is gathering to her all we
who so passionately believe in
irreconcilable differences,
incontrovertible evidence,
indisputable facts,
irreversible wrong,
irreparable harm.

She is whispering,
even shouting and singing,
to all we who believe in an earth
too scorched for trust, beyond
all hope of redemption.
She becomes for us today
a soft, white cloud,
the tender offering
of a love that empties itself
only to grant us new life,
second chance,
joy everlasting.

She breathes into
our tired spirits, fills our sails.
Her arms remain ever open to us,
no matter what we’ve done, and always
close around us, pull us back
to the only thing that matters.
See how her head bends low?
She is listening for echoes of
resurrection love,
heartbeat
of the children
whom She loves.