Father said, sometimes we ate
what moved among
the fallen— small things,
seed, snail, quick green, mottled
brown that swam or burrowed
low. To live is merely one
advantage— but grace,
grace is something else.
It’s what you might find
or leave for someone
at the bottom: one grain,
one mouthful of water.
It fractures, salves,
or multiplies,
depending on the angle
of the day, moonlight
or the bloom pinned
like a corsage on the chest—
In response to Via Negativa: Seeker.