Grace

A morning windstorm recalls sunbathed gold suspension

the tone of small town childhood dusty air

a classic song riding waves like an echo 

of a secret surfer

coming out from your Father's garage

the architect of Time

lingers everywhere and waits 

for

your ascent, rapturous in every line divine

the way

you all ways 

eviscerate the race

with a greater design

and wings i began to see

as just

your limbs,

the way the planet moves beneath you

fulfill 

a childhood dream

at the Bermuda triangle

sleeping soundly at altitude

over an unmarked

endless ocean

matching the depths of your soul

eye to eye

think 

your little baby crib

must have been no different,

there is a tiny yellow house

where everything was already written

I

mark each day

ever so slightly in

sight

of your 

Angel forbearers

while

something like the wind

takes my breath away

every summer

in You

microcosmic crystalline sculptures

attempt your Grace

they were only clouds

next to the brilliance

of your mind,

next,

rain.

Song