I cannot type
another sprig
until I pen
of you my fig
la vie it was
and loss of it
and so I press
your tiny print
into the page
and speak, my plum
your pace of pulse
it’s quicker drum
the dreamed up smell
into your hair
a grin and chin
of pre world-ware
of traits unknown
new love, my lime
already sown
and though the ache
has met defeat
I won’t forget
your budding beat
now in His hand
your form can bloom
and I let go
of losing you


The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. Lamentations 3:22-23

I prayed for this child, and the LORD has granted me what I asked of him. So now I give him to the LORD. For his whole life he will be given over to the LORD.” And he worshiped the LORD there. 1 Samuel 1:27-28

image: Fig tree by Ryu Itadani