Ash Wednesday Meditation
Snow clouds gather as I emerge into this night.
My breath is white smoke and my forehead bears
The clumsy cross, what’s left of all my spent
Burning beneath it, the memory of oil
And promises, Your whisper, “beloved,”
Breathed on me in consumed yesterdays,
Tomorrows unblemished as white stones,
And on this night.
Lenten promises and foresakings
Set before me, a plan to meet You, I pause,
Between heaven and earth, this midweek cold
And Easter morning, dust and dust, death
And resurrection. All my pretty plans
Burn brightly in offering.
I find You want only space made for You:
The nod for the blessing of waking,
The drawn-in breath before kneeling,
The forty-fold admission that You fill
Utterly, in a world that knows gluttony
Or lack. My frosty breath is prayer,
For bare altars, dry jug let down
For well-water, an empty tomb,
A me-shaped vessel for Your Lenten portion.
Reposted from my first blog, four years ago.