I dance
And rest
In the palm of Your hand.
I thought to stay
For a moment
Or a day,
At least until I caught
my breath.
There was a box of treasure
That I carried,
An offering
Of grace
And sin.
I will set fire to it.
And watch the smoke drift
And tangle
In the feathered wings
Of angels.
I don’t believe in angels
Or their glorious
Wings of
Opal and fire,
And their voices that
Sing hosannas to
Your name.
I will sing
A broken hallelujah.
My offering
Of ash and dust.
It is Yours—
The ash of my sacrifice
And the dust of stars,
The angels’ tears
And their sacred indifference
And the holy silence
That fills me
As I dance
And rest.
It is all in me
All of it
In every breath
And blessed sigh.
And I am so tired.
Even the dust of stars
Is heavy.
And so I will rest
In the palm
Of Your hand,
But I will no longer
Dance.
