Grace is the copper enamel of sundown. Grace is the brilliant ribbon of desire. Grace isn't always a woman. Grace is the first day of every season. Grace is the endless reservoir of dream.
Grace is the anatomy of silence.
Grace is the language of mute spirits speaking through us. Grace isn't always a woman. Grace is the choreography of star lover's waltzing. Grace is the echo of deep cliffs. Grace is the dying embers of forests on fire stealing the breath of stillborn rock.