Some sacred things
live between the pauses
in the hush before dawn
or in the tremble of a voice
when everything is broken
no scripture taught me this
but that brief moment
when I looked in the mirror
and for once, I didn’t flinch
the acceptance
of my own breaking
the choice to love again
call it divine, call it grace
call it the soul
remembering itself
for not all sacred things rise
some simply endure
without any explanation
and that too, is holy
© Ann Bagnall
Annie's Poetry 