Terebinth by JD DeHart
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.