Grace

From the hands

of the five gods

grace runs like a river

up 

from the ice 

they have pulled me

out 

from the dark.

All around me 

their radiance is burning 

like a dying fire

perfumed with 

the oil of the wood

resinous 

pine and maple

ash and walnut.

If the rest 

of my time is measured 

in months instead of years

I will make each breath

count for something.

We are all

riddled with 

the seeds of death

just in some of us

they are growing 

faster.

Tomorrow 

is beyond our knowing 

beyond my sight

and should not be

hastened.

Let us hope

that each of us receives 

more miracles

outside of our deserving 

let us

hope.