Dawn

Come, O Dawn!
Sweet and subtle,
gently warming,
come!

Be the slow smile of sun
that elicits laughter and delight
from weary travelers.

Be the hint of hope that we need
to put one foot faithfully in front of the other
along these long pathways of peace.

Come, Dawn! Invite the deep inhale, the sigh of relief
to release the tight grip of fear on our spirits,
the hunch of stress in our shoulders.

Come and be mischievous
with the shadows of a fading night
until we see in them playmates, not enemies.

Come and break the spell of evil
that has inflamed our affair with death.
Come in a glorious display of life!

Come, O Dawn!
Merciful and mighty,
softly saving,
come!

on Luke 1:78-79

Rush Hour

A hermit thrush flits outside my office window
seeking a perch or a morsel from the concrete.
If I could open the window, I would offer her
space to cool her wings and quiet her panic,
sharing the same gift that the barista gives me
each morning when he kindly ignores that I am
obviously bleary-eyed and brightly-makeuped;
he takes his time steaming and frothing as if
he knows that I need the extra thirty seconds
to convince myself that peace is as necessary
as this cup of coffee to get through rush hour.

Lent 31

The mourning dove
catches the dawn’s red
in the gleam of her feathers
and adds her opinion to the chatter
of birds amidst the still-sleeping maples.
If their conversations were not so delightful
or their songs so encouraging in the morning,
I might guess, God, that you created birds
to make me feel guilty for not waking up
earlier or not fluttering about in work
before the sun appears in the east.
But I cannot fault the birds’ joy.
I’m up! I’m up now, God.
Where would you
like to begin?