Grace Drifts Down Like Dust
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| (Found here) |
over the soul’s rough rocks,
settles in its crevices, scintilla where even the light is blocked –
grace like fine flour sifting through
a grille to the lumpen heart.
I sit in the back pew (sunshine shears
into the evening church) and see
that motes are always falling –
each particle is gentler than confetti,
hallowing the human, the unready;
its glinting traces bless us unawares.
Grace is manna for an outpost life,
is unconditional and borderless –
there is only the reception of its calling,
all I can do is raise my empty hands.
~Sarah Law
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