down, under eight stories of rubble
a dove flew from a pocket of ash.
Hardly anyone reported it.
But sometimes it works this way:
a simple winged thing rises
from the twisted steel
of all we’ve built.
Sometimes injustice is
the perverse tool of God
that breaks the nut
grown too hard.
And sometimes the fallen
tree is carved into a boat
that brings us to the new world.
Hardly anyone notices when
the threads of light are pulled.
But doves rise from ash
and broken hearts are
worn into wheels.
Somehow, the mystery is released
by our suffering, if we only
keep clearing the rubble.
~Mark Nepo
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