weekend solace nears
tears of grapes, oak fermented,
tastes of summers past.

to feel reverence and intimacy
with everything we see;

to find traces of divinity in
everyday things;

to realize that imperfections and
cracks below the surface are not
signs of weakness; but traces of life;

to know that in essence, all is unity;

is grace.

sharp blades scar the ice,
to sound less is soundness.
we skate in silence.

sometimes we should let the silence be our words, the darkness our light and the stillness our dance; so that life is processed not only by our minds, but also through our hearts.

how cold this night is,
am I falling from your grace?
ice grazes my heart.

in the end, life will wear us out,
beyond repair.

cast our souls into the void,
but don't despair.

hair, bones and flesh with time
will tatter.  

but luminous beings we are,
not this crude matter.