When you can’t cry, or will not because your heart is hard,
I will cry for you—tears to seek the cracks, a way in.
When you can’t listen, I will be your ears
to hear the hope in a flower, a bird, a melody.
When you can’t speak, I will whisper words your heart would say
in unguarded moments, if it could crawl from beneath the dead weight.
When you can’t believe—when your faith lisps with fragile emptiness,
I will believe in the darkness for both of us.
When you can’t pray, I will pray.
When you can’t,
when you won’t,
I will
with hope.
Apronhead 