There is a grace I meet less commonly
in a person than the elements,
a movement quality that
stands firm, taciturn,
out of the way of language,
makes a person want to word it,
failure certain
and pleasurable
Grace is a natural substance
you cup in your hands,
your patience, audible,
a trickle through rock,
the open room
of your listening ear,
invites like fire
in a cave,
a soft interruption
on harsh terrain,
and in your vast, verdant focus
on God and living entirely,
is a meadow
a commons for all;
a number you nurture
into multiplying
And when your smile breaks,
a timely breeze follows,
and the smile itself,
sharp from detail,
cuts my suspicion, my routine,
and I ache because you are
so believable
Twinkling friend,
I hope to learn you,
to circle your ways and
practice our company,
to take note on my heart
from all vantage points
I hope to enter your world,
arms full of grown goods
and helpful things,
loves foraged in the mire,
to offer them to your days,
to participate in the time-forged way
you treat having skin,
giving, thanking,
quietly, innately,
as trees to breath
You old, far-reaching twine,
I touch you and find myself
giving you names,
for this, I'm sorry
You grateful sigh,
you honest word,
you place of presence,
you stumbled-on wisdom,
you grown care,
you distillation of thanks
Already, you have a love — your life,
tangled up in your limbs
And I approach without an offer,
and this is everything to me,
and I hold it out in my hand.
