Everyday Epiphany

Epiphany.

You, in the middle of things.

A burning bush,

a parted sea,

four hundred years of silence

before a star fell on a manger,

its beams brightening

the body of a tiny babe,

newborn boy.

In the middle of all slanted things,

His trail of light,

handed down for us to see

and take notice where we are—

hands half submerged

in a bath of bubbles at the sink,

stretched and bent picking

a sock from the floor,

ache of our heart split open

in unnamed longing.

God is here, hovering,

encompassing these daily rhythms

that slowly stirs us awake,

turn our heads to the sky,

a blinding light, a soft blinking star.