this wild unruly wind

would shake me

less if I were

made of song and feathers

or lived among damp

green ferns

but as it is

being made of

bone and blood

this wind has nearly

broken me

each morning

comes creeping a

silent resurrection

and each day we build

our crosses and agonies

until a sigh of darkness

erases both faith and doubt

and we swim in the grace

of being born again
each morning