Call On Me, Sister

She, that crisp, solid piece of us,
is going to fall from our arms,
be lifted on the warm spine
of the wind,
and crawl up to the head
of God.
I have golden roots in my heart,
torn out and tied in heavy knots,
and I will just fall to the ground,
for now.
With autumn,
she leaves to grow more.
I'm afraid that maybe
when she comes back,
she won't see the weeds I lay upon
as she once did.
Or me, a frail-fingered candle
next to her blooming faith.
But no,
I have my forest here,
of arms, and hands, and several limbs.
We will hold our branches together,
like we always have,
and wait for her to spring
back to us from over the oceans.
And though our hearts are in pain
and our stomachs are twisted,
we still write her collective love letters
under the ground.
When she finds Him,
maybe she'll bring me to Him, too.