Beloved, may you feel this grace ---our world broken open like a seed. 
I do not know if we may grow or how the tendril,
straining toward sun, may survive such a world as this. 

I know only that we must try to tend this garden.

Beneath a blistering sun and the drumbeat
of a distant but unrelenting rain, we must sing to one another
that song we barely remember.

We must reach for one another in this garden
whose true beauty is concealed by all our ill-conceived
master plans and willing retreat into grief.
 
I know only that we must try to tend this garden.

We have only this minute in which we might choose life
and no other thing but love. I do not know if we would
survive such beauty or be crushed beneath life's love so vast. 

I know only that to feign contentment by
capitulation to a lesser god is to deny this day-gift blessing
and so break the heart of this world all the more.

I know only that we must try to tend this garden.

Anointed ones, we must decide whether to turn
from seeking blame and toward the call of love in life.
We must ride this river running wild.