Grace is the ritual of prayer, the faces of nameless saints and the throats of wounded animals. Grace isn't always a woman. Grace is the quiet habit of stone. Grace is the loud voices of anxious water flowing backward to the origin of all things. Grace is the beginning of time.
Grace is the ending of time.
Grace is the timelessness. Grace isn't always a woman. 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.