. . . a living sacrifice. . . which is your reasonable service.
— Romans 12:1
To love and work, not die. The longer effort
of staying the exile's course until it crosses
a threshold into breathful amplitudes. . .
entrenched and therefore toxic codes of action
and judgment freely handed over, with
the quickening intent to be less trammeled,
less gripped by power surges of self and self
and self. . . That done, an ocean washes in —
waves, daylight, gusts. The way they ring, high-pitched
hurrays released in volleys by those at play
on the nearer inshore. . . Standing with them, two
figures whose seventh decade lend a kind
of independence to, and crinkled laughter
revive, the second childhood of a child
who hasn't heard of sacrifices; but will
in time salute their clear soul-heartedness,
lean into the air, and never count the cost.
Art • Faith • Mystery
from Poetry Daily