Bruce Black
You light candles,
one more each night, and
watch their flames flicker
in the reflection of the window.
You consider the miracles
you have known—
How a woman with cancer
given two years to live
is still alive after four.
How you found love
when you least expected it.
How life itself
seems like a miracle:
The feel of sunlight’s
warmth on your skin
in late November.
Maybe you can see miracles only
in the light of the candles burning
in the menorah which remind you
of the miracles that occurred long ago?
Maybe miracles beget
miracles, one leading to another,
each miracle opening your eyes
to the many miracles surrounding you
each day, each moment.
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