It looks like a ghost heart. And it feels a little like Jello.
—Doris Taylor, bioengineer
I.
On the radio show Speaking of Faith, researcher Doris Taylor is telling us how to build a new
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There’s a river churning in her heart,
Carried with a surge of pain
There’s a river burning in her soul,
Calling out her child’s name.
There’s a river in his casket;
It flowed out from both her eyes.
There’s a river in the resting grave
and this river will not die.
The river carries firmly
Everything that it must take
Wraps it gently up in nature’s arms
Leaving heartbreak in its wake.
The river took her child away
It took her home as well
It swelled and took stars from the sky
Took it all, and then dispelled
So look into the river, child
And fear the waves beneath
The river’s grace is also cruel
Its strength shows men they’re weak
Carried with a surge of pain
There’s a river burning in her soul,
Calling out her child’s name.
There’s a river in his casket;
It flowed out from both her eyes.
There’s a river in the resting grave
and this river will not die.
The river carries firmly
Everything that it must take
Wraps it gently up in nature’s arms
Leaving heartbreak in its wake.
The river took her child away
It took her home as well
It swelled and took stars from the sky
Took it all, and then dispelled
So look into the river, child
And fear the waves beneath
The river’s grace is also cruel
Its strength shows men they’re weak