This is part of a poem from berlin. Amy and I just got back from germany, and were really moved on every level by how exposed the wounds of europe are there–visibly and tangibly present in that city.
berlin, no sing or song–but a churning in
the neck, a grate, a rustling of bones and metal
over time.
still, here is europe’s lament
here is the unhealed war’s end
a type of buzzing silence
today we saw
a jesus statue in a bombed church
missing his right arm–the Arm of blessing
the Arm of protection-a Father’s Arm really.
at night a one armed giant keeps moving
forward alone, with an unexplainable sense
of destiny saying,
Germany is not done!
