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We are gathered together,
We are hidden from view—
In a tangle of laurel, we tear at our sorrow
Like bread and we start up anew;
Where a circus stands blazing
And steam engines brake and whine,
In a razed hobo jungle your lost and found wonder
Has risen and mixes with mine.

Then, foolish we are, in the presence of God
And what all his grave angels have done—
In love's growling weather, if we're dreaming together
Of a heaven apart from this one…
Apart from our own

I take this to be holy—
If futile, uncertain and dire:
Our union of fracture, our dread everlasting,
This beautiful, desperate desire.
The cloud darkens to harrow,
It crosses your heart like hand,
But it's cool like the shadow of all that we've seen by the
Light that we can't understand

Then, foolish we are, in the presence of God
And what all his grave angels have done—
In love's growling weather, if we're dreaming together
Of a heaven apart from this one…
Apart from our own

There's a new year starting backwards,
From high up in naked trees,
That threw all their clothes like burning money
To the ground and all around our knees.
We live outside of reason
And we're called to stand out of time—
To hover above the rough river of love
That runs ahead but calls from behind.

Then, foolish we are, in the presence of God
And what all his grave angels have done—
In love's growling weather, if we're dreaming together
Of a heaven apart from this one…
Apart from our own

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