I rise in the morning for war,
the very fact of my rising a victory
in a string of skirmishes.

I forget, in my rising and reading,
my writing and praying,
my mopping, consoling, studying, sinning,
that my every move is bitterly opposed.

I forget how much I depend
(completely I depend)
on you.

You are everything,
which is a relief because
I am not.

And to be not-everything is no privation
(I laugh before your blessed Presence)—
but perfect freedom to be
just me.

And your burdens are light,
because they are freely given
and freely received.


This is day 16 of LABIA MUNDA, a series of forty poems during the forty days of Lent. 

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