When You Can’t

When you can’t cry, or will not because your heart is hard,

I will cry for you—tears to seek the cracks, a way in.

When you can’t listen, I will be your ears

to hear the hope in a flower, a bird, a sunset, a melody.

When you can’t speak, I will whisper words your heart would say

in unguarded moments, if it could crawl from beneath the dead weight.

When you can’t believe—when your faith lisps with fragile emptiness,

I will believe in the darkness for both of us.

When you can’t pray, I will pray.

When you can’t,

when you won’t,

I will

with hope.