I want to write about faith,
about the way the moon rises
over cold snow, night after night,
faithful even as it fades from fullness,
slowly becoming that last curving and impossible
sliver of light before the final darkness.
But I have no faith myself
I refuse it the smallest entry.
Let this, then, my small poem,
like a new moon, slender and barely open,
be the first prayer that opens me to faith.
by David Whyte, from *Where Many Rivers Meet*
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