Tuesday, December 4, 2012


A child lifts a bird from snow;
The sparrow, small, brown, trivial
Flutters against the soft, confining hands
Then  quiets in the warmth until  hands open
And he is cast free into the sky.
God is no child and I am no sparrow
I struggle to find the confines of His hands
Asking grace to settle in their hollows
Until they open to the light.