So much already surprised us,
the seizure thinning of sanity, thickening
The loss, barely bearable,
the ineffectualness of love,
all kaleidoscopes shattered, every facet of our beings,
bent to, immersed in, fragility.
It wasn’t the stars –
they are always saying
hoot! and ahhhh!
it has never been them nor
their sway upon our inner equilibrium and
our outer balancing of gravity.
It wasn’t even how deep and involved our prayers were
or even our feeble masks of courage,
denting our dignity so we could have a new form to try on,
taste, and learn what taste is, yet again.
What it was and is is chance,
the dispelling of random energy until the whole illusion grows
transparent – and we, divinely shocked out of
our complacency, our certainty,
resemble helpless fledglings, crushed
by a fall.
What it is is rising,
rising from that, still broken,
incapable of flight, but
capable of asking God
to lift us and wait with faith
for the rising up.
What it is is leaving
our crushed shells while still inhabiting them,
living for the fountain-spring, the miracle,
not working within the natural laws, not
manipulating those laws with tailspin good luck charms,
knowing the miracle is in our leaving,
accepting our unknowing
in this bright surrender, this marriage vow,
river received, inception.
Copyright © 2021 by Allison Grayhurst
First published in “Synchronized Chaos” April 2021
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