



One grief, all evening—: I’ve stumbled
upon another animal merely being
itself and still cuffing me to grace.
This time a bumblebee, black and staggered
above some wet sidewalk litter. When I stop
at what I think is dying
to deny loneliness one more triumph,
I see instead a thing drunk
with discovery—the bee entangled
with blossom after pale, rain-dropped blossom
gathered beneath a dogwood. And suddenly
I receive the cold curves and severe angles
from this morning’s difficult dreams
about faith:—certain as light, arriving; certain
as light, dimming to another shadowed wait.
How many strokes of undivided wonder
will have me cross the next border,
my hands emptied of questions?
~Geffrey Davis “West Virginia Nocturne”




Faith steals upon you like dew:
some days you wake and it is there.
And like dew, it gets burned off
in the rising sun of anxieties,
ambitions, distractions.
~Christian Wiman from My Bright Abyss



My faith,
refreshed in the light, through the moisture of morning,
evaporates in the drying stress of the day.
May I turn my face to the heavens
each night, ask to be washed
in the mist of God’s renewing dew,
my worries settling like dust,
my wrestle with questions soothed,
my wonder expansive as the skies.



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