When you drop the veil of hope and wanting,
you can see the sun pluck harps of frost
netted between oak leaves.
You can hear the chime of infinitesimal
stars in sparkling silence.
Call it a moment of grace if you like.
But really, grace is all there is
here on earth where things
are made of tinier and tinier miracles.
And really, it's true, love overflows
the rim of a dust mote.
O mind, expect nothing, abandon hope.
Plunge naked into the fierce
breaking waves of the ordinary.
Of course the voice within goes on
but a listening
inside the within
slowly rises like water from a forgotten well.
One breath bows to another,
and you remember how to stand here
amazed, then how to walk.