There was a time back then,
 when the closest to a smile he could conjure
 was a dissatisfied smirk,
 targeting his malaise.
 
 He avoided mirrors;
 
 convinced that his desires were misguided,
 at best,
 he smothered in masks of self-preservation,
 nurtured in solitude,
 exhausted in cast-iron stealth,
 yet
 with someday hope.
 
 Someday hope.
 
 The planets aligned
 then,
 out of the blue,
 like an angel whispering
 a gentle major chord
 that crescendoed into
 a dream of flying.
 
 Now,
 in this free play towards oneness,
 in this avalanche
 his agnostic soul
 begins to call blessings,
 
 he knows,
 he has been delivered 
 from the non-linear,
 when nothing was straight-forward;
 
 with the last laugh of relief,
 he soars 
 into the loving embrace 
 of everything,
 of everyone
 of himself. 

 Practice grace,
 study grace,
 fill your ears with the greats - 
 Bach & Miles & Duke,
 and whoever else
 plays with grace.

 Be the busker of grace;
 embrace every encounter
 as an opportunity to 
 practice grace.
  
 Do it for 
 its intrinsic
 beauty;
 
 and with grace
 you won’t need
 reimbursement. 

 
  She said
 she was walking
 to town
 to buy
 some tomatoes,
 and never came back.
 
 She could
 imitate
 different animals,

 loved all
 kinds of
 weather.
 
 She knew perfumes,
 could rewire
 appliances,
 curse in
 several languages.
 
 She said
 I love you
 every night
 before falling
 asleep.
 
 The day that
 she vanished
 she took nothing, 
 except
 my heart.