Grace
When I think of sky
it is a study of shapes,
radiance with motion;
a lidless stadium for
wings and blissful soaring...
the mental athlete I am
some nature of me giving
all artful snapshots flight,
no ceilings to my heavens,
and trapdoors to all my
belows –
I like to think that nothing
is definite, all Time having
added space – all sentences
lavishly repealed by grace;
my affection for endlessly
happy endings – even wrecks
like me, God yet loving, putting
new heels and soles on my
wayward, panting soul,
out-pacing Him and now
needing blessed, merciful
mending....
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