[A poem I wrote contemplating the changing seasons in my life from climate crisis to collapse to cancer …]

Homecoming: Times Three

‘Twas seven years ago, or eight,
I found myself awake—and late;
The rising heat, so clear to see,
It seemed to set a task for me.

And so, I set my mind and heart
A map to draw, a path to chart;
To summon all of us to meet
This moment well and cool the heat.

I read and thought and read some more
Then wrestled ‘til the words did pour;
‘Twas finitude the theme I sounded,
That life by death was wisely bounded.

That if we wished to know our worth
The truth is we’re at home on Earth;
The limits that we live within
Are bodied grace, not sign of sin

Could we but learn “enough” to seek
We might avert a future bleak.
From prairie blooms to river’s foam,
It would be well if we came home.

. . .

But then three years ago, or four,
It dawned on me that so much more
Than heat alone was now at play—
That other forces ruled the day.

It seemed to me—and seems so still
That all our efforts are for nil
Collapse will be—not if, but when
This earth our home no less, but then—

When home is all a wounded heart,
An ecosystem torn apart,
A world undone by endless more,
With peril now for all in store.

How might we claim this home as ours?
By leveraging forgotten powers:
Boundless care and boundless sorrow
And tenderness to meet tomorrow.

Through simple joys and generous tears
Through choosing right despite our fears
Behold in awe our starlit dome
Amid Collapse we yet come home.

. . .

Mere months ago, as few as three,
Collapse came home—and came for me.
When cancer flipped my world on end
And all the words that I had penned—

About a world on edge out there
Returned to me and laid me bare.
Does finitude feel noble still,
When it comes time to pay your bill?

What does it cost to call death wise,
Until it stares you in the eyes?
My body now a petri dish;
Ten side effects for every wish.

That wounded heart—it’s not just mine
My kids are six; my grandkids nine;
And Margaret, ever at my side,
Our love runs deep and just as wide.

With care and sorrow, joy and tears,
With gratitude for all the years,
Should I, too soon, return to loam,
This journey, too, is coming home.

. . .

September 5, 2025
David R. Weiss

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David Weiss is a theologian, writer, poet and hymnist, “writing into the whirlwind” of contemporary challenges, joys, and sorrows around climate crisis, sexuality, justice, peace, and family. Reach him at drw59mn@gmail.com. Read more at www.davidrweiss.com where he blogs under the theme, “Full Frontal Faith: Erring on the Edge of Honest.” Support him in Writing into the Whirlwind atwww.patreon.com/fullfrontalfaith.