The Master's glance
is solidified grace.
It was nothing but theology until
I felt the Beloved's touch.
Fingertips ever so gently pressing
my chest, only for a moment,
yet the ripeness split open forever,
spilling this golden fruit.
Grace seems, at first, to be abstract,
silent as the night sky
until the whisper comes, a syllable
filling the heart with star music.
Here's the simple truth:
everything is drowning in love.
Let’s be honest, friend, I only
became free when I surrendered.