Exhale

sunflower

 

Her head hangs

by a thread

eyes scanning dirt

as if to seek the soul

hidden under a crust

of regret

The burden of proof

on burdened shoulders

grips her gaze

with enough gravity

to tie her eyes to earth

but oh! humble heart,

you cannot outweigh

grace

you cannot sink

beneath it

or plod past it

or hang low enough

to mar its magnificence

So look up

set your eyes

beyond this sin-stained soil

to the air beyond

your reach

for it is here

that grace

exhales

 

Counterpoint

fallen leaves

 

There’s nothing remarkable

about giving Gravity

his way, nothing noteworthy

about this free-fall; no great

burden of excellence hangs

about the necks of the damned

as they rot in earthen graves.

.

Falling is too natural

to draw comments from the stands,

stumbling too easy to raise

an eyebrow or stir surprise.

So when she rose from the dead,

walked away from the compost

in her burnt orange platform

heels, she really stepped it up.