Miracles by Dale Biron

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 star dust 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 as surprised as anyone when they happen.