The Thump
Hope rose within my heart—my call for forty days—Summer ebbing—
Then for a second forty—now come to pass—ignorant I sit—stand—pace—
Hope cried the call be ‘spirit-sent’—our cry of heart!—should I again have known?—
Still I search—a misreading of the treasure map not denying hope—
‘Kaw Liga’ means something—in a cryptic tongue that I don’t know—
‘Elijaaaah! Yo-ho.’—cri du coeur!—a wooden pine-heart keen with pang—
How to say so simply—yes or no—how to choose—does a pine heart pine?—
A million choices I have made—which are real?—which?—do I know?—please tell!—
Now thump my beating chest O fist of mine—a million choices and not one?
Not one to call my own?—surrender I from thump—all good to Thee—my Lord—
All good but not the bad—never will I see Thee maker of the evil—
Perfect good and perfect justice lie in Thee—thus speaks my treacherous heart—
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