In commemoration of the anniversary of the the earthquake in Haiti, two years ago today, I thought I'd repost the poem I wrote at the time while my cousin-in-law was among those shaken. We are still a needy, broken people. Come, Lord Jesus!
We seek the living here among the dead,
But may we find you.
Where we discover our decay instead
And cannot find you,
Then be at least the cold that slows disease
And slithers through the shelter of debris.
I heard that Herod made a careful search
And could not find you,
But in the blood of Innocents the Church
Still strains to find you.
Be never as elusive as before
And more tenacious than the shattered floor.
We asked you for a king but found his fist—
Now may we find you—
For life, but found a Cross behind the mist—
There may we find you.
And to the slave-girl when the dust is clear
Unveil your presence that was always near.