4/4/02

We all have our imperfections
We’re not all pillars of light
Nor deserving
Of things graceful

A thing of grace presented
Shining and mysterious
Only to be stolen away
And given again

A heart
Burning for grace
A mind lost
In eyes magnetic

A heart torn
Shredded
burnt
ground into dust in the summer dusk

Two pillars
One of light, the other dust
Rise up under the faint, dying red sun
The dust settles, the light fades

Grace flirts away once more.