The Spaces of Hope by Ivan V. Lalic from The Passionate Measure (Anvil Press Poetry)
I have experienced the spaces of hope,
The spaces of a moderate mercy. Experienced
The places which suddenly set
Into a random form: a lilac garden,
A street in Florence, a morning room,
A sea smeared with silver before the storm,
Or a starless night lit only
By a book on the table. The spaces of hope
Are in time, not linked into
A system of miracles, nor into a unity;
They merely exist. As in Kanfanar,
At the station; wind in a wild vine
A quarter-century ago: one space of hope.
Another, set somewhere in the future,
Is already destroying the void around it,
Unclear but real. Probable.

In the spaces of hope light grows,
Free of charge, and voices are clearer,
Death has a beautiful shadow, the lilac blooms later,
But for that it looks like its first-ever flower.


Today's poem has me thinking about how lightly and carelessly I use the word hope.  I hope it doesn't rain today.  I hope I can find a parking space near the coffee shop.  I hope Netflix gets new seasons of Lewis or Vera soon.  Those types of hopes would be better expressed as "It would be nice if"s. 

A space of hope is more like a moment of grace, a breaking through of light, wholly unexpected, a gift for our soul which we've done nothing to earn other than simply being aware enough to notice it.