She is…

phantom moon,

haunting the empty night,

chilling the wind,

misting sand.

She flavors the glaciers,

empowers the grasses,

sounds like

a wing.


She doesn’t need to know a thing,

she knows so well,

Rides her horse

across the desert

in waves

of rock,


in the silence;

setting the depths

of the darkest sea,

crying with the joy

of weight.


There is a quiet essence to Grace, a breath of motivation, for everything from the push of a seed to the change of seasons. What else do we need to know?

© Andrea Mathews, 2014

Cape Gannets

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