Pause. 

Even as the subway car hurtles 

into the tunnel and calendars heave 

under growing weight of entries,

even under the familiar lament

for more hours to do

 

a bell rings somewhere

and a man lays down 

his hammer, as if to say

the world can build without me,

a woman sets down 

her pen as if to say, 

the world will carry on

without my words.

 

The project left undone,

dust on the shelves, 

dishes crusted with morning

egg, the vase of drooping

flowers, and so much work

still to complete, 

 

I journey across the long field

where trees cling to the edges

free to not do anything but 

stand their ground,

where buttercups

and bluebells sway

and in this taste of paradise

where rest becomes luminous

and play a prayer of gratitude,

even the stones sing

of a different time,

where burden is lifted

and eternity endures.

 

Christine Valters Paintner. “Sabbath.”

 

The worst thing we ever did is pretend
God isn’t the easiest thing
in this Universe
available to every soul
in every breath.

 

Chelan Harkin. “The Worst Thing.” Susceptible To Light.