I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded, not with the fanfare of epiphany,but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night.
... the silence in the mind
is when we live best, within
listening distance of the silence we call God ...
It is a presence, then,
whose margins are our margins;
that calls us out over our own fathoms.
What to do, but to draw a little nearer
to such ubiquity by remaining still?