This Sunday’s poem is one by Luci Shaw.  There is always risk in wrestling with God.

     With Jacob

Inexorably I cry
as I wrestle
for the blessing,
thirsty, straining
for the joining
till my desert throat
runs dry.
I must risk
the shrunken sinew
and the laming of
his naming
till I find
my final quenching
in the hollow
of his thigh.