Sunday, October 5, 2014

Al-Wahhab: Grace as Flow

There is no rushing this,
the gentle puff of breath
over an old cardboard box,
the settling of sticks, cedar and maple,
teepee style, like my father did on camping trips.
The flame licks,
curls sinuously,
stretches and falls back,
lingers glowing under one corner
a tiger eye brightness
and then
it spreads its arms and dances
into its transforming purpose-
wood remembers how to be light,
light sees its smoky shadow,
and in the warmth,
I hold out my palms,
basking in the wonder of it all.


Find the entire poetry collection This Nurturing Awe:  Poems Inspired by the 99 Beautiful Names of God at

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