Overwhelmed by all
but underwhelmed by myself.
How do stress and wonder blend so cleanly
inside the same small minutes
every single day?
It’s enough force to crack the soul
like continental plates, grinding like my teeth.
So I go courting the Spirit
trying to make the magic moments
that already are:
the paradox of conscious effort.
But maybe that conflict is good,
to highlight the steady solids by contrast,
because in a corner of this epic drama
I feel the little warm concrete faith in my hand.