In all our sanctuaries we sit at risk

The Inn this Advent


Photograph by Robert Atanasoski/AFP/Getty Images.


I heard this song tonight from the desert
the shelters below ground there
and the wrecked homes

and I heard it from the grey waters
just south of Europe, with winter coming on
and the boat leaking

and from the guard posts and barbed frontiers
that now cover a continent, halting the raw feet ;
I heard this issuing

of hope’s loss, in a voice
so thin, yet transmitting, on the breath’s
expulsion, our soul’s lament.

Rogan Wolf
December 2015