having ascended the stairs named God’s mercy, justice, and joy in forgiveness— on the wall made of hard, red bricks I stood and spread my arms to fly out over a new sea, stretching far in every direction— a whole new perspective feeling not only the wind under new-found wings, but trust—for the first time—asContinue reading “Leaping”
Tag Archives: Dayna Mazzuca
Sabbath
occupy the space you have today, set aside the space God gives you, bids you take and shut the door, turn off the lights, ignore the intruding voice of all you lack, must have for one whole day believe—in this time and place— you have all you need, say it loud enough to hearContinue reading “Sabbath”
Sundance Canyon
Canyon whispers run through a solitary walk along the river leading away from Banff townsite here, in the middle of June I am not (like them) made of stone I do not live like one of these trees I am more than the breath of wind— closer (I am) to water bordering light flashingContinue reading “Sundance Canyon”
Complex Designs
I admit, now and then, to letting disappointment glisten like dew on my temples over “the one that got away” —a web of singular drops of water reveal complex attempts to secure a meal the instinct of a spider betrayed— a famished, unrepentant creature, I hold no loss too small to regret.
eternity
Poets on street corners bend back bars for people passing to witness, to signal the sound of a heart beating in time with eternity —the single revelation of a new believer turning to see who calls them now.