I have walked with a limp all day
my ankle bandaged, cane in hand,
no great story — I sprained it with
one simple step off of a crumpled
concrete sidewalk; the same ankle
I turned twice carrying our sick dog
down the stairs a few years ago,
and then again missing the last
marble steps our on first afternoon
in Florence. I crossed the grocery
store parking lot tonight thinking
about Jacob wrestling the angel
grasping for grace, crying for love,
and learning to walk wounded like
everyone from Penuel to the Piedmont;
I have wrestled mostly with myself
and stumbled in both fear and faith . . .
this is just the wound that shows
Peace,
Milton
