Grace has the consistency of wakefulness.
You can rub it between your fingers
and never even feel it.
But the problem,
is that it gets into your bloodstream,
and later-
when you’re driving in your car,
or listening to foreign language tapes,
or standing on your tippy toes
trying to hang a skillet on a hook-
it travels to your brain
and shuts out the lights.
You have a near death experience,
and forget momentarily
all your reasons for
being a concerned citizen.
Grace’ll do that to you.
It is tasteless and odorless, too,
and it fills up all of space like a gas.
If you forget to wear your mask,
you could breath it in for days
and never even know it.
You would probably feel alright.
But the problem is,
by the time you figured it out,
it would
already
be
too
.
.
.
late.
Embracing Forever 
Beautiful Michael. Susan
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I would say thank you, Susan, but the problem is- I don’t even know how to write poems. Every once in a while they just show up unannounced- travelers from the field where all beings stand joined together- and knock on the door, invite themselves in, and tell me to sit still and write exactly what they say… And by then, it’s impossible to sustain the notion any of us ever do anything truly “on our own”… Whoever it is that writes poems, is writing them down in all of us… Michael
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I agree Michael, but we have to take the pleasure and credit for being the vehicle to write it down.
Ciao,
Susan
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It is indeed a pleasure to share and to be known and to come to know. Thank you for your visits and your own sharing. Michael
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