In Defense of Being Normal

I forgot how much grace there was in hopelessness,
how much grace works in brokeness
because it was hard to let her in.
Though, on the streets where she shouts,
all is seen, she found
my heart in the red light district
where I must have suspended my belief
 to receive
the millstone around my neck from the little ones I deceive

Whoever said ceaseless prayer was lovely
has never done the thing,
has never been the hypocrite,
how God's name leaves salt-water lips
as it falls through the filth to the pit-
my heart.

But do not mistake this for despair;
it is brokeness.
It is hope in hopelessness. It is shown
forth as light dawns over the sand, so
it pushes back against the darkness I dwell in.
And this Pascha passes over like the shadow of Peter.