there in the muddle
where I do my best
to keep it swept
but it gets messed up
every day anyway,
there amidst
the drafts
and the animal chorus
something new
and beautiful
is being born—
not because
I prayed for it,
not because
I am worthy,
only because
that is how
miracles work—
sometimes
by grace
we peek through
the cracks in the walls
and see just
how light
even the messiest
places
can be.