Grace

8a80a-img_1221 The wind blew your name across the wild grasses

the spiny call of the egret left

the air, out there

wheaten

hung over the idols of my youth.

Seed against cerulean sky

blown

promises suspended

caught for a moment

in a current of uncertainty

to fall at my bound feet.

I have walked

towards that sound,

made up ground,

in skins and ceremony.

I have carried a village

that spoke not a word of

worship

nor ever wrote

a sanguine wish

for peace.

In my memories,

we were sundered by the sea.

A glassy swathe

of welcome water.

Grace that brought

a flood to feed the earth

and flow between us.

I felt you near

still

in time.