“What was made has been unmade…”

For we are fallen like the trees, our peace
Broken, and so we must
Love where we cannot trust,
Trust where we cannot know,
And must await the wayward-coming grace
That joins living and dead,
Taking us where we would not go–
Into the boundless dark.
When what was made has been unmade
The Maker comes to His work.

— from Poem II of the 1985 chapter of A Timbered Choir, Wendell Berry

My father-in-law died unexpectedly two nights ago. This poem expresses some of the feelings and truths that accompany the sudden loss.

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