Mist

All is unclear as the fog lifts off the warm earth.
The creatures sing out their morning welcome,
Raising their voices despite the murkiness.
Clarity does not reside in mourning
Yet on the bright edges there are signs of lifting.
With the morning sun, even in the glory
It does not take away the shock of what was.
The song raised in prayer brings the beauty 
Of being claimed, not alone, just amidst the unknown
Mystery of light words exclaiming the depth
Of our cry "alleluia, alleluia, alleluia"
The final song of those beloved by God.