Why do you need a miracle?
Miracles don’t pay your rent,
Pulse your nerves, light the dark,
Still the Earth, or make you well.
Miracles do nothing on their own.
Miracles don’t feed your heart.
This only blood can do, be it
Yours or mine, flesh to flesh
Dried in place. Stained like rust,
Blood never lets you go.
Miracles live on air
Because they are nothing
New or old under the sun.
Borrowed or blue, nothing at all
But dreams too afraid
To cross that line and cut your skin.
Miracles are cheap excuses for love
Deferred, leaving hope for dead.
They are God-machines grinding down
Your sharp edges until you are dull.
I am no miracle, but I am more
Than you deserve. Now as then,
Your treadmill grace beats your brow.
Too humiliated to save face,
You struggle for something else to save.
You wear this miracle like a shield
Of dreams. Proud behind it, you have no fear.
That wish protects, but at a price
You know so well, and so do I,
Every time we go to sleep alone.