These Bones

These bones are weary
I feel the fatigue come upon me
And I cannot fill my lungs
With enough air
To sustain my racing mind
These dry bones crack and rattle,
They do not dance with joy
But feel the weight of lifeless despair.
They sink to the ground
in anticipation
of their demise
into the valley
of ash and dust,
scattered to the wind.

Yet I hear a whisper,
A faint calling,
“My beloved.”
I hear it louder,
Echoed through the depths
Into this hollow soul
“My beloved.”

I look into my heart
One last time,
And recognize
My name:
“My beloved.”
And I answer:
I am here.

It speaks again,
“My love, can these bones live?”
Suddenly your spirit
fills my chest with life
Air explodes into my lungs
New possibilities before me
Your wind enlivens
These dry bones
Into living matter
Once again.

The four winds
Breath restoration
Into the slain
Hope into a desolate grave
Light into darkness
Order from chaos

These tendons stretch
Flesh covers
a bare skeleton
Skin warms pink
with the blood of life,

“How do you always do this?”
I say,
“Create life
Where there is none?”

These dry bones
Once cold and dead
Begin to sway
Swirl with the hope
Of revival
And I lunge forward

On the first step
to my surprise
I find solid ground

With my ears I hear:
“These bones are strong,
my love,
I thought you knew.
I told you before:
You are stronger
than you could ever imagine,
for my breath
resides in you.

So I breathe in
sharply
and walk
towards the mountain
And hear my name
Once again,

“My beloved,
Are you ready?”

I feel my head
move up and down
tentatively
and my lips
speak the words
my heart fears most:

Yes.

Inspired by Ezekiel 37.

Photo by Patrick Hendry.