I Once Thought a Miracle would Be More Grandiose

On my way to the barn
to get zucchini from the freezer
I noticed I was skipping.

It was not so much that I was skipping,
rather that I was being skipped.
Something was skipping through me

and I was the instrument,
the practice, the pleasure of skip.
There were no golden sunbeams

filtering down. And there was no
angelic choir singing a silvery ahhhhhhh!
But I knew as much as I’ve ever known anything

that I was a part of a miracle happening.
The Saturday afternoon was gray
and growing grayer still.

It was not even four o’ clock. And a miracle!
A miracle. A miracle even as new clouds
arose, even as old clouds grew gray, as they will.


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