Sustained
I sing the body valiant
who hobbles slowly but gets there
in the end.
Whose knees kneel awkwardly.
Whose getting up is slow.
Whose eyes glimpse heaven but
are dimmed to the nearer view.
Whose spirit is unwearied,
alert for some luminous surprise
like the fog lifting, showing
the wideness of a landscape of hope.
In Beginning, a Word
It is no sin to be in love
with language. If word comes from
“tongue,” if a word on a page,
a redolent phrase, looks up at you with
its open eyes, enticing the hungry mouth
of your mind, you may take it,
a honeyed crumb, with your teeth and
tongue, and eat it as a word of God,
in which case it will offer a feast,
an invitation for a whole new story.
–
Luci Shaw is a poet and essayist, and since 1986 she has been writer-in-residence at Regent College, Vancouver. Author of over thirty-seven books of poetry and creative non-fiction, her writing has appeared in numerous literary and religious journals, and in 2013 she received the 10th annual Denise Levertov Award for Creative Writing from Seattle Pacific University. Her new collection, Angels Everywhere, was released in 2022 by Paraclete Press.