The day lifts its face



Here’s a poem by Luci Shaw:

On Retreat

New Camaldoli Hermitage, Big Sur

This early morning, in the chill before light,

I lie open, face upward on the little bed,

a supplicant, body reflecting soul,ready

for something I cannot see, but crave.


I’m waiting, like any fern in a garden,

to be rained on, or sun-drenched.

Oh, I am little, little.


The day lifts its face over the Pacific

and a corner of sun touches the thin pillow.

I shift my head under its warm hand;

it moves across my face as I lie quite still.

It blesses my forehead with its holy oil.


What is blessing but a largeness

so immense it crowds out

everything but itself?


<a href=””>Retreat</a&gt;


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