By Oh God, I stand on the threshold
Of this new-old beginning day,
open throated as a small robin
huddles in the nest,
waiting with all my senses
for you, oh Spirit,
to fill me.
I know that there is a past
That shapes me;
That a turn of day cannot
Give me a clean slate. I am not
a child of amnesia, and so I shoulder
my life with all its choices–
past, future–
Balancing this moment
to believe in the
new heaven, new earth.
Today let me wait for your word,
hungering for justice
as though my life–
in this small fist of fragile things—
leaf, twig, feather, straw—
depends on it. As it does.
Come rustling of wings,
Breast of fire,
enfold me
in the breathing dark
the sun-split dawn.
Bring me bread.
Bring me life.
