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."