Jesus, it’d be better
were you here, laying hands
that we could see with our eyes
or feel on our skin to heal us,
to wake up the dead,
to hear your voice say
talitha koum!
I know how he felt now, that poor man
running through the streets without
dignity to beg you fix
his broken little girl. God, to feel
you near in voice and breath.
That sort of peace, the final sort
of knowing—we can taste it now
but we can’t swallow.
This must be how John felt
when he said “Come, Lord Jesus.”
He just wanted that feeling
of seeing you handle impossible,
that reassurance. So I guess
I’m fine with this—the wanting You,
like John. Come, Lord Jesus.