Grace is the opening we enter with bare feet, the door we close behind. Grace is the delicate impulse we share with those like ourselves whose loins and hearts dance when they touch us. Grace is the flourescent crimson of dawn. Grace is the granite liquid of black sky. Grace isn't always a woman.
Grace is the invisible thread of common objects.
Grace is the redemption of transient souls. Grace is the release of imprisioned spirit, the resurrection of faith that stores beautiful gestures in boxes of freedom. Grace isn't always a woman. Grace is the name we sometimes call ourselves. Grace is the name we sometimes call others.