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.