Hope

Seems an awful precarious vessel

By which would flow

All of You, any of You.

Even my wonder at Your goodness is

Too unreliable, too simple.

Part of and maybe the magic is

You’re to be hoped in:

No matter our fragility

Lack of dependability

Whimpering, stinking inadequacy.

You and all Your

Tendrils of light keep

Warming:

Teasing to hope.

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3 thoughts on “Hope

  1. “Hope is the thing with feathers
    That perches in the soul
    And sings the song without the words
    And never stops at all.”
    —-Emily Dickinson

    So glad to see you’re being tickled by the feathers, Amy……

    Like

    1. Miss Dickinson’s sounds so light (though we know hope’s as heavy as it gets!)… Mine feels hard fought for. It’s all the same, I guess, though she most always says things better than most! Thanks for this and for being “here.”

      Liked by 1 person

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