But for the Grace

In church today I sat, invisibly
amid the blaring sports commentary
and inconsequential conversations,
wondering at the almost living
lives which surrounded me.

Soon my attention was caught
by a strange sort of miracle.

A man sitting, murmuring in the pew
across the way appeared so caught by Love
that he cared nothing for the world around him.
His head was poorly shaved
and tattoos crept out
from his clothing
up his neck
and down each arm,
but what overcame my silent disparagement
was how utterly engaged he was
with his Love.

His soft voice smiled an intimate,
hushed devotion as he spoke.
His hand lightly held and caressed hers
as he looked into her eyes
like he was seeing forever.

He raised his beer to
and toasted her often;
still smiling, but looking down
and away bashfully, gratefully.

When their bottles seemed near done
he picked them up,
pardoned himself for leaving
her for the bar for another round.

I heard my self wondering
how lately I've given up
on Chivalry and on Humanity;
become jaded by my too quick perception
of the people in my flock.

I was further harassed by him
when he sheepishly asked the bartender
for a new round saying:
“I know you must think I'm crazy,
she really is there…
but only I can see her”.

Having been weighed and measured,
I found my self wanting
to go there.