Little Altars Everywhere


When the smallness of my vision
Dampens all hope inside, I simply watch
And these clumsy feet keep moving.

When what could have been
Turns bitter and dusty from wear
I feel the tiniest move as a miracle.

When the bit is cold in my mouth and
When daylight reveals only a potholed
Road, just the sound of my feet can comfort.

Rising up from this pain is not grand or special
If it says anything it says stardust knows
It says come with me just one more time.

Miracles always have their own strange rhythm
To know them is to place power into the possible
And God is as surprised as anyone when they happen.

– Dale Biron, “Miracles”

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