Flow of Grace

The silent morning;
The sound of the rising sun
In the winter air

While eating a quick breakfast
He wanders through cyberspace

There is just a trace
Left of the first settlement
In the field of wheat

She walks away, she retreats
From the family gathering

As the moon, singing
In the crisp October air,
Disples the darkness

The Matins Psalms as witness
To the endless flow of grace

He longs for the face
Of one who has departed
Many years ago

"All's impermanent," I know
This truth as a comforter

The Russian River,
Keeper of the tides of time,
Like a melody

The blossoms of the plum tree
Open in the gentle wind

"I think we should end
This quarrel we have had.
Life is very short."

Though she thought of a quick retort
It no longer felt important.