Acknowledgment sounds with our morning yawn:
We have been in need; we have been held safe.
And the quiet of the dawn routine declares
That we are weak, are strangers to this day.
Awaken slowly. Infants in the world,
What will you do now? Fresh from the night’s grace,
Will you shake your horn’s fist at the first sight
Of anguish lurking at the silent light?
Forgiven much, enrage. The open space
Of day defies you. If all now unfurled,
How would it be to wait, to be, to say
Yet not my will? Grace’s true cost lies there
And we are not prepared. Our kinship chafes
As we seek love, reluctant, through the dawn.
The Consolations of Writing 