The Garden Of Nicodemus Poem by Steve Taunton

Sunlight shimmered through the vines:
Wandering, I moved to touch
Those that my eyes have chosen,
Those that stand within my field.
Yet, my eyes do not see their hearts;
Only surfaces, gnarled limbs,
And twisted wood.

Assuming I knew His love,
I stood with some in the closeness of night,
Touching surfaces.
Touching random fragments,
Damaged limbs,
I stood with some in the brightness of day,
Touching surfaces of longing.

Vines have reached out in lines against the sky,
A painful lavender lacework;
Shapes and forms of their voices
Lean and bend in the wind;
The shapes and forms of my voice have also reached
Against the sky and my voice has broken
In longing in an endless night.

He healed their twisted, broken limbs,
He healed their shapes, their forms, and
Gives voices that rise with the wind,
Will my voice rise with them, knowing His song?
Only touching surfaces, not knowing hearts,
Shall I, turning in the night,
Turn and know His touch?