This Is How We Are Called

In the hours before the birds stream airborne
with climbing voice,
a silent breath rests in the pines
and upholds the surface of the lake,
as if it were a fragile bubble
in the very hand of God.

And I think,
this is how we are called –
to cup our hands and hold this peace,
even when the sirens begin,
even when the sorrow cries old and gnarled,
even when words grow fangs and rend.

Cupped hands, gently open,
supporting peace
like the golden hollow of a singing bowl,
like the towering rim of mountains cradling
this slumbering and mist-draped valley.

~Kim Sahara Beyer-Nelson