Sunday, September 8, 2013



the things I know have become me…

            your heart pressed close
            the purple light of iris bloomed
            the scent of rain on hot rock
            the rush of river over stone
            wind threading through a grove.

I have known one year after another.

but I will never know anything sweeter than…
            your trust
            your approach
            your gaze
            your hand
            in mine.

so grace becomes both phrase and metaphor.
hear me when I thank You and you and you for this life.

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