We seem to undervalue the healing:
our tortured spirit’s repair; scarred psyche’s
crawling journey through marred valleys stealing
light, scaling slick cliffs by night—faith’s lost key
appearing almost from nowhere, lifting
us through narrow skylights into clear air
where some energy caresses, gifting
us all with vast sight, calm, and gentle care
for other souls. What flaw makes us forget
our rescue so quickly—how belief’s act
fuels our salvation through brief steps? And yet
we’ll stop, want all to stay, despite the fact
we’ve learned motion’s our breath of life. Listen:
Hear the sun rise? Our chance begins again.
Roger Armbrust
August 12,
2013
