The day of wrath, the day of doom
their graves will open wide,
and I will gather them for you
the myriads who have died,

as once I gathered every one
in ever grasping hands
who wheeled beneath the moon and sun
and took them from the dance.

That none should have still more to mourn,
I bid their music cease;
the old, the young, the yet-unborn
I gather into peace.

And even you: I stilled your tongue
and laid you down to rest,
but ever since, my Lord, you've sung
the music I love best.

That day I'll lay my sickle down
that cut their brittle stalks
and take my fiddle up to sound
a new and endless waltz.

Then all the sleepers will awake
to dance in triple time;
you will take each hand you made
and reel in perfect rhyme

where cherubim like mirror-balls
revolve above your throne.
Rhythm stronger than any pulse
will rattle in their bones.

And I will cast aside my cloak
as you cast off the night
to tread the steps your wisdom spoke
there in your endless light.

The Dance of Death (1493) by Michael Wolgemut, from the Nuremberg Chronicle of Hartmann Schedel – https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/390220, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=490534

Because the birthday and the wedding anniversary fall in the same week.

I've known you longer than I haven't, love,
and wed almost as long as I was not.
Most of my life dovetails into this groove,
the strongest joint, and perfect in its slot.

Oh, but the wood has weathered, even so.
Sometimes it sticks, but jiggle it just right
the doors move free.  Even these fixed things grow
and sink and settle, creaking in the night.

A comfortable sound, not heard afar,
I'm used to now, as you are used to me,
with each of us forever who we are
and neither of us who we used to be.

The nails will rust, boards splinter, shingles part:
Time will not touch the dovetail of our hearts.

File:Barn, northwest corner, detail – dovetail notches and stabilization support – Trump-Lilly Farm, Hinton, Summers County, WV HABS WVA,45-HINT.V,1-41.tif O’Connell, Kristen, transmitter; Nicely, John, photographer; Nicely, John, delineator; McDonald, Tracy, delineator; Condie, Joe, delineator By https://www.loc.gov/pictures/item/wv0531.photos.381877p, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=34526236

Sunday’s readings combined the description of the heavenly city in Revelation with the promise of Christ and the Father making their dwelling with us:

Come and make of me your dwelling.
Take my ways; inhabit them.
Let my earth become your heaven:
Make me your Jerusalem.

I would be your holy city,
heart of stone made crystal bright:
all my frantic rush-hours stilling,
windows spilling over light.

You the silence at the center:
Here the temple, Lord, is you.
Fill my shadows with your splendor,
brighter far than sun or moon.

But this heart you gave: I've filled it,
left no corner for your berth.
Come, O carpenter, and build it;
make your heaven of my earth.

Not my handiwork—I know it—
ever could construct your throne,
nor the walls in their twelve courses.
You must build, who are the stone.

Come, and make in me your kingdom;
let my old things pass away.
Streets and alleys, change and bring them
all transformed into your day.

Folio 55r of the Bamberg Apocalypse depicts the angel showing John the New Jerusalem, with the Lamb of God at its center. By Auftraggeber: Otto III. oder Heinrich II. – Bamberger Apokalypse Folio 55 recto, Bamberg, Staatsbibliothek, MS A. II. 42, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=618995

You speak a word that prunes us:
You love us, and we bleed.
The mercy that renews us
uproots us, thorn and weed.
You cut away these branches—
they're burned but not consumed.
We're only dust and ashes,
but you will make us bloom.

You take our cold convictions,
the vows we made and broke,
wrung through your crucifixion,
sung in the cockerel's crow,
and turn them into mercy.
Your alchemy redeems.
The empty nets are bursting;
the mortuary teems.

You harrowed earth and heaven
to draw us through the dark
where thirty silver pennies
shine out among the stars.
The sea gives up its flotsam,
and sweet now runs its brine.
The briar crown has blossomed—
dead branches drip with wine.

R. ellipticus var. obcordatus leaves and flowers By Franz Xaver – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=15635394

From the sudden storm's tornadoes
and the sirens going off
and the radar still updating—
now deliver us, O God.
Yet for safety and for shelter
as the danger passes o'er
while the world outside's a welter—
for all this, we thank you, Lord.

From the asphalt shingles flying
or the buckling of the walls
that would leave us naked, lying—
now deliver us, O God.
For the tedium of waiting
huddled on the bathroom floor
'til the siren's slow abating—
for all this, we thank you, Lord.

From the slumber of complacence
under quiet skies and broad
that fill, in a blink, with hailstones—
now deliver us, O God.
For the turning of the weather
and the end of every storm—
May we come through all together—
for all this, we thank you, Lord.

A tornado near Anadarko, Oklahoma, 1999. The funnel is the thin tube reaching from the cloud to the ground. The lower part of this tornado is surrounded by a translucent dust cloud, kicked up by the tornado’s strong winds at the surface. The wind of the tornado has a much wider radius than the funnel itself. By Daphne Zaras – http://www.nssl.noaa.gov/headlines/dszpics.htmlOriginally uploaded at en.wikipedia; description page is/was here., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2130165