I’ve thought a lot of grace
on this windy, wintry day (wintry in the Carolina sense
60, maybe, and gray).
Is this resurrection
a dimness we cannot fathom, a mirror reflecting darkly
an overcast spring day?
Perhaps this dimness is
all we can take for now, lit up about as bright as we can stand
grace given with more grace.
I want to believe this:
the world has a life of its own we cannot kill, not completely
despite our best efforts.
It will come back, for good
and next time we’ll want it, greet it with open hearts and brimming eyes
I can see it, almost.
For now, let it all go
all of it; empty yourself, turn back towards that far off spring, and
look, always look again.