Isaiah wrote about the stump
Left behind in the world
After the sweep of judgment fell
The oak and the terebinth remain
The sawed tree leaves a pattern
Ridges and narrow passageways
You could trace a star with
Its end a raw, gnarled appendage
Isaiah wrote about the ravaged
Field and ruin, while juxtaposed
With the remainders, the seed
The excerpt implies a peace
Larger than truth, that even when
Broken and crumbling, twisted
There is a small grain of hope
It lies beneath the surface, small
Inclination of a behemoth below
Blessing is a small wordless child
Sitting amid the curses and fears.
