Grace
And thank You, too, for the initiative,
the gift that goes against the grains of sand
or heads of hair You know without a name;
the intercession clarifies and rests
installed upon Your Holy Ear. Above
all that, the quietude that is instilled
in working out or on the private pot
does not in fact it’s only there
to summon and, obedient like a slave,
forgets it is a master and adheres
to what is certitude. The mutual
is not a miracle: as ordinary
as the cave, the manger, save the Child.
I bless the angels that You bless me with,
the opportunity to share with them
my counsel and my peace; the absence of
the labels charity does not attach
to folks of circumstances less than nice.
The piece, a little borrowed, I defer
to elbows I was dreadful to, at first,
rub or entwine with it was not naive
of me to cynicize the strangers in
the crowd where easily I would get lost.
It burgeons now I do not mind the cost.
To heed a call is to discern what makes
it difficult to listen when no rest
is offered by the other side and rich
our lives are deemed by eschewing their waste.
by ABRAHAM DE LA TORRE
