Life is grace. Sleep is forgiveness. The night absolves.
Darkness wipes the slate clean, not spotless to be sure,
but clean enough for another day’s chalking.

—Frederick Buechner, “The Alphabet of Grace“

•••

What if, overnight, someone leaves
some big, fat sticks of chalk in pastel
pink and blue and green on your porch,

and, as the darkness lifts, you find them,
along with a washed-clean sidewalk
in front of your house? Everything

has been forgiven as you’ve slept.
You get to start over with every dawn.
How can you resist? You pick up

your little bucket of color and go
to that fresh slate. And, though you
have no idea what you’ll draw,

you apply some blue, then pink,
then surround it with green,
and soon you’re awash in hues

glowing, intensifying every minute.
Touch your toes. Twirl.
You made that. Stand back.

Admire what showed up,
aware that it may disappear
with the night. Then you can

make it anew tomorrow
and tomorrow and tomorrow.
Like life. Again. Again.

Lucky, lucky you.