mincha

this day is not my due just for being born
nor am I promised anything beyond
this breeze, this breath that right now blows through me,
the sun-tinged clouds, the placid waters ebb
below the lit-up bridge the traffic roars,
all gifts unearned, their value undefined.
I have no words, I am compelled to praise
to try, to stutter praise for grace unearned.
let me find refuge in this moment’s shelter
let there be less of me and therefore more.

 

*hebrew in title refers so the daily prayers said in the afternoon.

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