THE WEAVE:

The Sun feeds the zombie

sheep, in the Underworld,

and whispers about

the Grace Bale….

"Every so often, there is
a Grace Bale. 
A bale of grace.
A bale to carry

like all the rest,
but Lighter than.
Hay scraps, gathered
from the threshing floor.

It shocks you into
breathing a little more
deeply, to heft
a Lightness unanticipated.

You learn something,
about the Way you carry
weight; re-calibrating
to the body's messages, in Light

of unexpected levity.
Like arriving on a landing,
when you thought there was
one more step."