Are we not full of grace already

when we bask in the earth, in what is around us

if only it is a street cobbled and pocked by tire grooves

or a wintry tree with the leaves blown off as ash

and the branches needling out

like pointers to the sky offering

direction and a sense of strength

bared and naked and full of desire for spring.

How do we express gratitude daily

when we see our bank account shriveling

and the arguments increasing over nothing

and everything but making us impotent to respond

and our hopes of youthful vigor leading to

midlife comfort and continued health forever being

only a false prophet but one that still comes

around when we ask for solitude and introspection.

Are we grateful when we acknowledge

that we are happy to be among the living

and full of energy like a burning lantern when

placed among others who prop us up and

make us feel as though we are something

that is needed, vibrant, still joyous, bathing

in the salted sea that burrows under your skin

and seeps into your marrow like the drip

of coffee in an urn that fills up your body

and gets you to move, to dance, to understand.

Words cannot express grace,

Sights cannot express grace,

It is all visceral and emotionally shot

through like a piercing blow that

suddenly hits from behind, a bulls'eye

in its sights, the sound of cut skin

like the slicing of meat on a thick board

but leaving you with new ways to see,

to understand, to comfort you, to

make up for past redress and agitated delivery.

We live for the moment when we can

find great hope and great appreciation

of not having to bend the minutiae of existence

to fit into a round hole that is musky with sweat

but allows us to spread our arms wide like a conductor

playing a symphony with the world, our world,

what is around us, and keeping pace with

the rhythms of the sounds and the smells

and the color that shifts from sun to shadow

but is bright with new shapes each time you look.


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