I must look up at the sky, On the edge of dawn, Where the soft breath of morning stretches, Tilting the world anew, Each cloud a promise, each star a question, Hanging overhead like trouble. As day breaks open, I turn toward the sun, still shy, Into its wideness, its embrace, Like the wildflowers tossed around in the breeze. They quiver excitedly, And I am reminded of the pulse of life, The earth’s rhythms echoing in silence, The touch of grace brushing by. I stretch out my fingers, To touch what is unseen, but always there— Forever in bloom, always rushing forward.

• Anne Sexton