Entangle and snarl
Beneath the canister lid
Where, stashed, they wait till
Solitude and opportunity converge
For examen in the light of God.
What do they do in that dark tin?
Do they come to life like toys
When I turn aside?
For when I remove the lid
And pinch the one on top,
Just the one,
A scrum of griefs, old and new,
Links arms, emerges together,
Collapses in a knot
On my open journal.
Calling on my Father's help,
I place the bewildering snarl
In His able hands.
Griefs, like paperclips,
Entangle and snarl, but
The maker of galaxies and quarks
Can and will untangle
In His time.
~crm, 8/8/22
