I’m lost among the shadows of your hesitancy tonight.
You hold back your motives and refrain from sight this night.
I thought you loved me through and through with will and might,
but now I see that your might stands still each and every night.
It doesn’t just mean at night; I long to be understood all right.
And I’ve tried to show my feelings to you every day and night.
I’ve yearned for your closeness through the day and into the night.
I’ve pined for a sign, a burning bush, a walk to Emmaus, a flight
to Damascus. In my illness, still I must go without sight
content in my sickbed as your disciple this very night.