santos scribes

there was a hole there,

it was flesh and deep

not visible from front or back

felt only from its sides

from walking

beside it

and with it,

eyes closed

eyes open,

for always.

There was a hole there,

it was beautiful and empty

gaping with mercy

gaping for mercy

it was not ruined

it appeared to be

but it wasn’t-

it wasn’t ruined, it was waiting

for mercy, for meaning

it was waiting.

For brokenness,

and the right wrong side of things.

For pressure

and pain,

for the depth of itself.

It needed despair

and the depths of itself

to become filled.

It needed the concrete nature

of its own love.

It needed concrete

and nature

to feel,

to alive itself.

It needed concrete

and love

to become truth

and love-

to become true

it needed love.

To wail and sing and soar

it needed truth

and love

and concrete

and nature

and truth

and truth

and truth.

There was a hole there,

it was beautiful and empty

flesh colored and true

I’d like to show it to you

only I can’t,

only it’s filled up

only it’s been filled.

With truth

and love

and me

it’s been filled,

this heart

a perfect hole;

and I filled it,

I filled it up.